Sometimes I think
not often, but enough
that if I had a shrink
(s)he would say
Neil Young is the one
that ****** you up
son, I mean, he didn’t
mean to, but
looking back like I am
apt to do too often
his music I have listened
to through the decades
made me who I am
today and yesterday
taking me so many places
where the pavement
turns to sand, like
on the beach, or down
by the river, or somewhere
on a desert highway
where I tend to see the sky
about to rain most days
and the ambiance of
ambulance blues
is so ******* beautifully
depressing that even
I can diagnose me
just knowing that rust
never sleeps, and a heart
of gold remains elusive.

;)

I imagined our last goodbye
would be something for the screens-
you would be about to board a train
(you were always the one to say goodbye)
I would make my way through the bustling crowd
and find you through the smoke
as you'd turn around,
the wind from a moving train would brush my hair ever so slightly
that at that exact moment,
you'd fancy me the prettiest girl to cross paths with
as a tear would escape from the corner of my eye,
i'd whisper from across the station;
"please don't leave me"

you are moving to Seattle-
out west to a city that never shows sun
it was meant for you.
you want to be a Bio major,
and you want to spend the rest of your days in the mountains.
Seattle is far away from the sub(urban) town you leave behind
and you never gave me the chance to see you through.
I will never forgive myself for the things I said,
but mistaking every stranger with long brown hair
and caramel-apple eyes
for you,
is punishment enough.

you are moving to Seattle,
and although I feel a bittersweet sensation
of being happy that you finally are getting your wish
(to, quote, "be away from you and this stupid ******* sleepy suburbia that offers me nothing but painful memories)
I can't help but torture myself
as I visualize you pursuing your dreams,
meeting beautiful, pale strangers that become your new friends
or finally gathering the courage to turn behind your chair and ask the
quiet redhead sitting behind you in your American Lit. class
if she'd like to grab coffee after lecture.
how can I sit back at home,
watching your through a blank, glass screen
seeing you move into the future
while i'm still stuck in the past,
heartbroken over losing the boy who left me in this do nothing town
as he moved on
to Seattle.

Built on the Berkley model
Paid for with mothers essential oils
...a bitumen

And a flower blooms from Medicine Rock
Like a ballerina

As the Old Man weeps joyfully