No one ached when I died
On a dusty August morning in the swelter of the sun
They buried me in blue jeans and my coffin had a crack
A chip along the edges matched the blood along the tracks

Family preceded me; there was no one left to cry
But a single solemn woman, hidden in the back
Shed a single shiny tear; and only one to be exact

No waterfalls or bowing heads, no crowd to see me go
No burning candle vigils and no midnight serenade
I marched the gates of life and death, alone but unafraid

No one ached when I died
No questions or suspicions from the folks around the town
There were no weeping faces or a grand old death parade
Just a digger and a preacher; lowered slowly in the grave

David Bowie’s voice was like a race car bed to me
To take me back in time, when we were only seventeen
Sprinklers in the summer air, my feet on muddy ground
Turn into ***** bottles as I scream without a sound

Rachel’s cabin in the woods was a race car bed to me
A lovely little paradise that brought so much to see
The outside world did not exist, when I was with you there
We kissed inside the living room with flowers in our hair

And now I find that there is not a race car bed for me
Nowhere else to turn to in my grand attempt to flee
Fears that hunt me down like prey have chained me here to die
A grown up bird, so limitless, but too afraid to fly

I thought it was written in the smoke
That extinguished all our jokes
Filling air as we both choke
On the firing line

And when it was seven until
I headed out west for the hill
And I threw up those pills
Without saying goodbye

But still I will always return
Like I want to get burned
In a love I’ve unearned
For the rest of our time

I thought it was written on the wall
That had cushioned my fall
From the blowback assault
From the one wanting you

And when I gave up on the bridge
I remembered your kiss
And I swore off that *****
As I stumbled away

my love, you wear silence like a coat
and i am left drifting like a far-out wave.
the wind tangles leaf and sky.
winter is barely noticed, the moon
is a ghost of forgotten flowers where
the night sings to the starry waters,
sings of our love. everything is sailing
like a ship in a bottle, a kaleidoscope  
of brightness, gothic hill and wildflower
ruin, flowing like a silvery stream.
do you dream of me? do you burn when
the night wraps you in her cloak and the moon
unwinds the waters of the seas?
do you dream of me?

a bird slid into the wind's
bright paths, awoke
the sound of morning, the
only elegant sound. i sprinkled you
you with the roots of the rain and
with a song sweetened by
sunlight and although you were stunted
and your blue-blossom wings were broken,
and the very earth swam in dark
floods of tears, that little piece of
love was a kingdom as reachable
as your hand touching mine.