the beginning was calm
you were alone
departed some time ago
you shook the puzzle a bit
and the pieces felt out of place
but you didn't complain about
picking them up

you said you were wired differently
that you can't fall out of love
even when the war came
and we sat outside chinatown
you told me you didn't care about
the water of the womb

you wanted to pack up
and go
somewhere
where the pansies danced
and the girls are tough

where this big ol' house
at the end of the road
is your home
you say you knew

your life was planned since day one
but for some reason
you are not there

but still
with me, sitting

outside chinatown

pale porch light
illuminates the small
old wicker chair
on the verge of breaking
it already leaves paint chips everywhere
but you can't bring yourself to throw it out
you sit with a smoke in your mouth
and your glass jar
and the moon shines
strong enough to light up the whole town
and you don't mind
because this is what you are used to
the old wicker chair
the bright cigarette
that your girlfriend gets mad at you for
but still kisses you with a cough
the foggy mason jar
that is filled with practically indigestible alcohol
but that's your life
it's simple on the outside
a sweet contrast
it stops your ever spinning head
for just 5 seconds
and you look down
your unlucky skin in the pale porch light

one day, I will cease to shake
and in my grave, I will rumble.

one day, I will be a widow
and far past my age, a man name of Jones.

one day, I will haunt you
and your wheels, inside your head.

one day, I will be important
and will stop slamming, I will breathe.

one day, I will cease to rumble
and you'll say,
"my God, I've had a good life."

one day, I will cease to be a widow
"my God, where have you been."

one day, I will cease to haunt you
"my God, I cannot sleep."

one day, I will cease to be important
"my God, I remember you."