30 December 2008


If I could get it written,
the pages would fly,
but now it’s getting early
and someone is coming.

I’m on my knees.
Not to pray.
I’m on my way up.

I was lying there in the dirt in the broken day,
wanting to hit the road.
Thinking of going places I’d never been
where nothing really belongs to me
but will.

It is still me behind the wheel,
driving myself out of the beds I made.
Never wanted shotgun.

Nothing but pavement ahead.
I’ll eat the highway.

I’ve come to touch you.
You planned the streets to make a crossroads for me.
Weighted to loan prayers and reasons,
I could almost hear the promises break.
Where do I go to see my own perspective.

Salt, dice, sacrificial fire.
It doesn’t matter in the end whether the eye is of God or man.
I can’t keep getting back what you keep taking away.

I’m not sure I really meant it.I was just playing some stupid game some stupid kids made up,
and you were just talking to yourself anyway.

Troubles fill my pockets.
My hands are empty.

I’ll never get it all down, there is too much to write.

Climbing under the barbed wire fence, by the river,
I toss what I have aside, and it swallows you whole.

No comments:

Post a Comment