Is it ever hard to breath
in the fog,
or the starlight?

Is it ever hard to heave
this bundle off your back?

Is it ever hard to leave
fate behind;
to leave
all the paper
stamped and signed?

Is it easy to drop
the pencil?
To "make it pop"
or match the drapes?

Is it easy to stop
and see how hard it is to breath?

It all trudges
through what I've done,
the leaving,
the coming,
the blood
and the rain.
I see how tired
it all is,
I want it to fall asleep
in my life
in my lie.

Am I so much?
Just a handful of
Footfalls
Fools all
My hand is so steady
Father said
I'd have
Been a surgeon
Oh my son
A bough grown for the saw
Sleeping, back to the wall

I asked for you,
but I didn't know your name,
I just imagined you laying there
among the clovers, all covered in dew.
And now I tear
all my parts into little pieces
so I can give them to you one-by-one:
in an envelope,
in a cursive letter,
in all the threads of a sweater,
in every footstep and fingerprint,
in every hue and every tint.
I give it all to you
little-by-little.

Keep you on file
they always say
good enough to string along
not good enough to ask to stay
can they all sense the wrong?
they certainly hit me down
with whispers, they drown
I drown
away I see,
your floating, golden, perfect
crown.