I get mad behind the wheel sometimes.
I see ghosts instead of stop signs.
I see tombstones instead of churches.
But once in a blue moon
God sends me a voicemail,
And lets me know
That he's already tucked in the sheets.
That he's already fluffed the pillows.

Small town life is simple.
The downtown has no neon.
The streets are long and open.
Begging for the smell of thrashed rubber
And cigarette smoke.

Your mechanic knows your blood type
Your doctor knows your license plate.
Secrecy sounds more like something from a Bond film
Than a genuine principle.

A playground lies across from a cemetery
As though to say no one ever really dies,
Or that it was fun while it lasted.

I've been close enough
To see the rocks break
Under me.
And fall into the sea,
Scraping every branch
On the way down.
There's still lead on my lips
And blood on my clothes.

I'll check into the hotel
And leave my bags at the front desk
While I sit over the sink
And watch the cold water
Run down my hands.
Spewing out my fingers
Like a superpower.

And when the magic fades
I'll break all the china
To make sure they still make sound.

I'll try to checkout.
I want to checkout.
But before I do,
A movie I've never seen
Shows up on the TV
And I decide to stay awhile.

I do not have a happy song.

I just bathe in whatever it is
I decide to feel that day.

I sit at my window seat
and watch the train ride backwards
while the trees and hillsides shoot in front of me
as though each leaf and branch were being spawned
and that if I were to look behind me
there would be nothing to see.

A simulation
ran by an absentee landlord
who forgot he left the game running
who forgot he left the oven on.

Someone asks me how I'm doing
and I just say very sad because sometimes
I forget that I pretend to be a poet on the internet
and that I know better words to describe it other than very sad
but why bother when you come to the same conclusion.

I do not have a happy song.

I just bathe in whatever it is
I decide to feel that day.

maybe I miss you
but if I'm honest with you
I'm too busy to be lonely

i know what this is,
this is madness,
this is craving for a touch, for the
self-destructive nature
of his clutch, these are
soulmates who only
want it rough,
these are kisses
and we never get enough:
these are chances
and we only get them once.

Give me a spirit wild as the wood
full of fire
full of love.

Amen.