What do you do with an Easter egg that will not take its dye?
I ask myself some nights, tub songed and wishing
for a clear panther.
Something glass to put on a shelf and say "yes, this is it."
Two feet in the grave and everyone plays the tough
when it's convenient, but what about other times?
What about when times of strength
demand strength and all I've got are tears?
What about then?
The rock collection grows in my lungs
with songs the birds have never sung
and I want the birds to be bitches.
They're not
always and when they are I'm pushing.
When they're not I'm swinging
for the fences and missing the trees
not more than a snot rocket farther.
Fading back
you'll find you're halfway home.
We talked a little bit about
goals and junk veins
what we came to was a little bit better than a stale
mate and check. I don't know what took
dreams of the forest from me.
I still want it.
I still want sunrise so badly I would cut myself
to see it.
I don't know how
to do it
without seeing your face tomorrow. Your's seeing mine.
