When I was seven
I liked playing on the swings
I felt on top of the world
When I was thirteen
I stopped playing on the swings
As it was a silly game
When I was sixteen
I wished I was young again
Because I missed the feeling
When I was eighteen
I went swinging again
But this time on a neat noose
There's something to be said
for a man who steps in
where he didn't need to.
Who took the lead in raising
two foul-mouthed little girls,
so used to being left,
they'd never bothered to settle down.
I had knots in my hair
and dirt on my jeans and you
wrangled me along with the rest.
I was given things I'd never had
before. Like stability.
You weren't perfect. You knew the
world was a scary place for us
and we were too willing to play
in the street. You held us back
with a firm tone and sometimes we bit you.
It wasn't until I'd stepped out did I
put together how much you had done for us.
I miss you.
i think he looks at me,
from all the eyes and the
"i wishes" in the sea,
i think he looks.
there are legs,
forests here, fires touching oil,
paintings hugging walls timidly.
they move. this party is alive
and breathing.
but the speakers don't speak,
the rum moves quickly,
and the floors are the ceilings
are the floors and every sheet
of ceramic skin seems distant
but pulsing. out of all of this
mortal joy, fleeting consciousness
and the statues underwater
i can tell.
he looks
I've known distance,
slept with it even,
held it over me like a blanket
against the chill of the night
as it's people's shadows
crawled amongst the walls
and the floors,
charcoal ghosts,
imprints
of where they have been
what they have seen.
I've seen most everything.
pulled my trembling fingers
against the friction
of what I should do,
and what I have done.
yes, I've seen everything
and said goodbye to them too.
remarkable blades of tiny grass
stand up like the hair on your neck,
like a palm in a sea of knowledge
what did you learn when you ran away?
could you teach me
how to cross the seas
and keep myself from the crashing waves?
you look like you've stayed warm
trough the fires of viridescent oceans
and sapphire plains
I can tell that the storms came through
so you've created weather of your own to survive
to live and breathe and stay ablaze
and to fly is to run
in a field of poppies
and wheat
come to this place
and I will discover you,
like these pygmy blades of grass
that followed me home in the pockets
of coats and strings.
they've mad
did you feel
when he took your place,
with all the things you could say?
it turns out we're all the same
so find yourself
in the air that you took when I fell
for your hair, what a shame and a show
of medals and naked roots of the truth
presented in hordes
did you think of yourself?
in your heart you know
we've all forgotten who we are,
we are ghosts
watch as everything we've created
and all that we are
dissipates