So you think my storm is done at last?
Just watch and wait till summers end.
When, with a quiet rumble I return.
As a single jar of lightning left.
To speak the words of thankfulness.
And to spark one more glorious storm to pass.

Extractor of those awfully embedded times
That traveling memory, hidden in the back of worn suitcases
Brown leather and ties, like no remorse
Those breaths imparted, w/ lasting glare
The smoky windows in beat up wagons
Split lips from the boys on back loan
Wartimes, dragging utter sadness from the porch swing
Lost a tooth, and that made it smooth
Soothe the pain, w/ pints of tipsy water
We watch the sunset, in the field next door
Kissed & dangled, our bust behind us
Tumbled in the meadow, w/ no one else around
The boy I brought home is the same I fought
Every night, we tossed and paddled
Had I known, he would stay w/ me, forever
The girls from Seventh Ave. tickled me
W/ their stunty eyes and elongated dresses
Wishing, for a moment, we were out: the kids, picnic party w/ the club
Pa saw it in my eyes, the mailman and I
Even at the table with the shipped ashes and ol’ rummy
Playing hard to get with nothing but straight chaser
The mirror became such ferment to my frame
I began perturbing every milking like a daily lashing
And soon protruded my perimeters into giant horned gnats
Ground crackling and separated with ceaseless dust storms
Divided, on the fence back in the meadows watching it rain afar
In the familiar fields I laid, now a barbaric, decoded passing
I walk to the cellars every now and again, with my badges
Discreetly pacing the acreage, for a taste of interim regression
Now with no bandages nor luggage to carry my born chores

It's a cocktail in which memory mixes with sensation and sound. To become even moreso drunk on you. In the remind of those moments once shared, in that certain, southern, American town.