You are a bird with freshly feathered wings All I have to offer is steel cage words So you say you can’t give into me, you can’t bow to my demands I cannot hold you, no matter how cavernous my hands If I cannot give you the wind, I cannot give you anything You told me I was the one supposed to leave and wonder what happened Is there too much red clay on the soles of my shoes What is it weighing me down? You think I’m asking you for everything but all I want from you is a song
Wealth is a twenty dollar bill And a knowledge of the town’s best drink specials At least that’s what it is to me But I’ve never been right I always bet on the Cubs Call tails when quarters insist on landing heads up So maybe I’m not rich now But I got enough money to down myself And half a mind to do so The other half clings to hope with broken fingernails Ignoring that I’ve come to love the night How are you suppose to tell the sun I have forsaken your light I have come chosen quick and shallow graves Where I can drink amongst freshly picked over bones I’ll trade stories with the skeletons that used to be in people’s closets Hear the buzz from the buzzards Before I fall asleep in traffic so I can dream about forward motion
I miss you most in the morning with the winter wind has arrived premature and kisses my cheeks till they are rosy. The hummingbirds are absent till spring and I will not hear the wings beat heavy against the wind. We woke before dawn, dug our bodies out of their coffins so that we might be alive in time to see the sunrise. I have nowhere to go and you have everywhere to be but that doesn’t stop me from desperately chasing your shadow. I miss you most around noon when I have settled into my day. I have a sandwich by the window and let the blue sky lie to me about how warm it is outside. What are you doing? Where have you been? Are you in your classroom now? Do those kids know the way I know you? I miss you most in the evening after my I’ve eaten my dinner. I’ve made plans to make plans so that I can fill up my time. Perhaps you are going to bed early. Maybe you are not long for sleep but I’ve got a few hours left to think about you still. I miss you most late at night when this city has finally decided to sit still. Fingers over lips, voices hushed, we all whisper our goodbyes and head back home with someone or with no one, regardless. I am missing you still.
I keep odd hours unsure if time can be even or if it cares to be anything at all. It seems to me that man constructed time out of small hands into something bigger than he ever thought it would be, let it get away from him, and now is busy chasing after it all the time. I am guilty myself of chasing moment, after moment, trying to trap some lovely woman with me for a few seconds of our time. Maybe she’ll realize she loves me if she just takes a moment, my moment to stare deep into my amber eyes past he cornea, where I hide my secrets. My secrets are as follows; I am not as tough as I pretend to be, I talk loudly because I am dying to be heard, I don’t have a lick of bravery in body that is not manufactured, I fall sleep in movies, stay up all night, I no longer wish on stars but rather write them out in the dirt with a stick only to smooth them over with my foot, I think they gain more longevity that way, I don’t look in mirrors, I hate looking back, reminiscing is for the fools and the wistful and I am endeavoring to be neither of those things.
I gave my arms and legs to my father to remind him that I’m strong and that he will leave behind something when he’s gone. I gave my gut to my mother to remind her that I am weak like she has become. I gave my mind to my sisters and their children. They sit with it and watch cartoons as pass the time. I tried to give my heart away but like a lost orphaned child it has found no home. So now I’m the beggar in the streets not asking for anyone to give me anything but just for someone what to take my love off of my hands. It’s bleeding and staining everything bright red. If everyone could only see me now wouldn’t they be proud of the clever lines I’ve broken myself off at.