or joni mitchell or
courtney love
not the songs
just the sorrow
dead lawns and dirty snow and
all thoughts
reduced to the same shade of grey
nothing as simple as
southern california
nothing as broken as
these last 35 years
the prayers of small frightened animals
never translate
but the meanings can be guessed
the missing can be remembered,
but only imperfectly
watercolors of fog or of steam,
of black ice at midnight
the push and pull of lovers
who haven’t spoken for fifteen years
not death, but a
different kind of living
a neverending series of
slowly closing doors
is this what you meant when you
said goodbye
was a meaningless word?
one hundred thousand miles spent
driving lost beneath this dying sun and
are we any closer to home?
nothing to do in these last frozen
days of the year but
laugh at the spreading flames
nail the twitching corpse of christ
to his crippled religion
laugh at all the pain caused by
such simple-minded good intentions
No comments:
Post a Comment