Within the intense buzzing of this draft city
I see nothing written on the faces of children, men, and women. In books,
on the television,
and in every conversation
It's an endless black hole leading to God knows where-
and it's calling my name.

He jams to rock n roll and probes technology with his long fingers.
His eyes tell a story
as his words paint him sunglasses.
Hope's his worst enemy and
longing's his middle name but he'll have you believe it's all guns
and sly comments.
God loves him and so do I
but he's not ones for happy endings.

From the cracks of the sidewalk, I see the world
in snippets and clips,
my reality pieced together.
God shouted from the heavens once
"You are what you are and I am what I am
Nothing else matters, Feeler."
I don't much talk to God these days
when he's in his office. I saw Him at the hospital the other day
and walked the other direction.

Too late to right the wrongs,
close the gaps and heal the wounds. For every occasion
I'll be ready for a disaster.
Bury the past if it does no good
and ignore the self-righteous.
The after life is no place for dead trees.

In a suit of grace and sweet memories, my angle of death says hello
at the end of my bed every night.
Within my heart are answers
to his ancient questions
and within my eyes are
his fears. Back and forth he strides,
staring relentlessly
searching his conscience for answers. Chasing the cool.