i wonder how many times i've said
'if i play this song will you hear me'
you say nothing
the blanket is over your nose so i know
it must be late
but the smoke never hurt your eyes
and i wonder what it means 
till one day you'll wake up and you'll say
you hurt my eyes
and what then?
what will i do then
its christmas eve, i think, because its 3 am
on december 24th but
i didn't know
i said when i have babies i'll tambourine man them
and they'll have little moons for hands and songs for fingers.
last winter  i wrote like christmas was the end of a cigarette.
just like this.
this never happens.

last year i was bloody
blood on my hands, down my thighs
i had a song on no one knew but maybe heard in a nightmare,
if i sang it would you pretend you didn't know me? "building a still"
i wonder what i thought woods were when i was little
maybe like falling asleep
maybe like cold air
no, i had no idea.
if i am a poet i fell down a well and no one has found me
do we send down buckets on ropes? i never learned
where do we get our water
where do we get our air
i never loved anyone like the way your skin meets mine
but you're not here
my lamp has flowers on it but it's not fooling anyone
my heart is like that story of the sword in the stone
 but i wouldn't tell you unless you asked
 and you never ask me anything.


Jeff said...

This is fucking awesome and visceral. I love visceral.

rollerfink said...

I don't have any words to describe how "" the 1234 are so I told myself I would just type the first word that came to my mind. It is merry-go-round. These stories are so merry-go-round.