The rising sun alone Can turn the heavy mass Into something visceral, The veil that lies Between two Irish-American hearts.
Train tracks and wooden shacks. Houses. The smoke is there, Too, Rolling off the ends of our fathersβ cigars.
I swam through it last night at the jazz bar As it rose higher and higher, Turning the lights as blue As the singerβs voice. My brotherβs piano sounded the real melody, Driving, Like trains waking up in the morning And chugging through back courts, Under windows, And out into the country.
3.23.11 Written while listening to "I'll Love You Till the End" by The Pogues