tiny voices at my front door
wicked outside knocking louder
in time to a different drummer
hocking truth till it doesn’t really matter
anymore, snake oil magic tricks
of the trade in value

sticks and stones and
broken bone slings
and arrows pointing that way
against time and gravity’s accidents
lying on the floor crying
over spilled milk and
coffee clowns juggling
alphabet humdrum conundrums

slight of hand substitute
with all the nicotine freaks trying
to be heard by crooks
I need out of this town
pack this black and blue
into this red all overnight bag

the happiest man alive
until the day we die
safe to remake all our mistakes
but not in the same old ways
remembering when I was younger
cause I needed you since don’t know when
I watched you disappear

February 18, 2009