SNOW FALLS

she wakes
to a morning
with no reason for living

cries in the mirror
to be
forgiven

puts on her make-up
takes off her clothes
sits there & bleeds

until she can’t feel
the blood in her veins
runs cold

the razor blade
bleeds
bleeds

the cat
cries
to be fed

the batteries in her Walkman
go dead
the Rachmaninov stops

a letter
she will never read
drops on the Welcome mat

a mobile
rings & rings &
...stops

a member of
a minor political party
looking for her vote

rings the doorbell twice
slips on the ice & ruins his coat
curses

a man laughs
at another man’s joke
it’s a big laugh...he’s a big bloke

laughter
invades the square
there’s a chill in the air

a friend calls for her
(to go on a blind date)  
...she doesn’t hear

snow...
...snow...
...snow falls

There's a voice on the phone
telling what had happened.
Some kind of confusion,
more like a disaster.
And it wondered how you were left unaffected,
but you had no knowledge.
No, the chemicals covered you.
So a jury was formed
as more liquor was poured.
No need for conviction;
they're not thirsty for justice.
But I slept with the lies I keep inside my head.
I found out I was guilty.
I found out I was guilty.
But I won't be around for the sentencing
'cause I'm leaving on the next airplane.
And though I know that my actions are impossible to justify,
they seem adequate to fill up my time.
But if I could talk to myself like I was someone else,
well then maybe I could take your advice
and I wouldn't act like such an ******* all the time.

There's a film on the wall
that makes the people look small
who are sitting beside it,
all consumed in the drama.
They must return to their lives once the hero has died.
They will drive to the office,
stopping somewhere for coffee;
where the folk singers, poets, and playwrights convene
dispensing their wisdom;
Oh dear amateur orators.
They will detail their pain in some standard refrain.
They will recite their sadness
like it's some kind of contest.
Well if it is I think i'm winning it, all beaming with confidence
as I make my final lap.
The gold metal gleams,
so hang it around my neck.
'Cause I am deserving it: the champion of idiots.

But a kid carries his Walkman
on that long bus ride to Omaha.
I know a girl who cries when she practices violin,
'cause each note stands so pure
it just cuts into her,
and then the melody comes pouring out her eyes.
Now to me, everything else,
it just sounds like a lie.