The dinging of our grandfather clock
The quiet whistle of the southern wind
In these times, in this particular time
I often feel isolated and alone.

I do, take things very personally
But it is not without reason
And I hope that as I continue
To root into the earth
Those fears and feelings
Will casually fall away.

Ain't nobody gonna really be able
To have my back
As much as they say they will
And stand next to me with power
I shoot my arrows into my own reflection
Because I know thats all I can do.
At least for now

It is quiet in the old big house
The house where my room felt so large
A treasure trove
Of discovery and nuance
I imagine bodies huddling together
Intertwining within the sheets
How my mother must feel
After 35 years in the same old house
In the same old bed
And I wept a little bit today
At the damage all of this has done.

I think of you
But too, less and less
Asleep somewhere
In your perfectly premeditated
Surreptitiously calculated
Home and head.

I brought out a wooden knife
And attempted to carve a singular, small
Spot into the heels of what belonged to you
At first with perhaps thoughtless eagerness
You welcomed me in
Only to help me pack my bags
And subconsciously push and shove
Me out of your perfectly premeditated
Surreptitiously calculated
Home and head.

I know, I know
You never meant for me to go away forever
But I want to.

I hope my father doesn't
Perhaps they will figure it out
In the heart of Winn Dixie
Where nothing but classic rock plays
I held my mother today
And I thought

I've never felt more present.