When I'm with you
its like the roof of my house is being repaired
the knocks on my doors
a hammer on my house

It's annoying but the intentions are good

When I'm with you
I want to protest
I want my voice to color the streets
and hear the voices of the priests and preachers
a fist in the air
steeple in my heart

I'm tired now

When I'm with you
I don't want to write anymore
the seas of my mind are calmed
the fog can roll in
and the little boats can safely come to shore

I feel my eyes light up
like lights on little boats
like hammers on houses
like steeples and slumber

I think of you, friend,
as I make my way to Baltimore,
awake and aware of the
stillness in the backseat.
Used to be at least three
of us, sleepless and ******,
never alone except when we slept.
I think of you when the
sunlight finally hits my windshield
and refracts into rainbows
all over the dashboard.
I've always hated mornings,
but this one is calm and beautiful
and I can't wait to reach the shore.
I think of you once more
while I'm sitting on the docks
tossing rocks into the Patapsco,
watching the gulls go sleepily overhead. I dread the drive back home. But I'll be thinking of you
when I hit the highway laughing at
something you said when you were
alive.