Unlocked.
I can taste the freshly cut grass summer air
Looking at my feet as I walk the dusty lane
I can smell the wildflowers that are nearby
The air is so thick with summer memories
I can reach out and grab them
as if they were trophies on a shelf
and not long past pleasures
aching for what came before
the whole story is etched in mind’s eye
drawn too tightly
then let go too fast
couldn’t keep up
with the needs of the master
the yawning chasm almost welcomed
but the voice filled it first
not a scream
but a whisper
I almost understood
will it always be my fault
the things that weren’t there
but seemed so real
hurt with real scars to show for it
but feather light filters through
to those who can only barely see
when they’re in the midst of clouds
the story continues relentlessly
whether you comprehend or not
just hold a bit longer
Taking on water
Don’t think I can stay afloat
I’ll stay here awhile longer
Amongst clouds and ghosts and tangled rigging
When I set sail
So many moons ago
I never knew the cruelty
The avarice
The ignorance
I’d encounter
Now I’m tired
So tired
Can’t explain myself
Any better than that
Any more than I can explain
The reason for rainbows or laughter
You can look at the clouds and see science
You can look at the clouds and see shapes
I look at the clouds and I see home
Time, Time, Time
but not the way it’s read on a clock
and not in a fuzzy way storytellers mean
but Time
the way Waits sang it
with wind making speeches
not men full of bluster
with saints inhabiting dreams
not self proclaimed saviors
with fiddles playing
til he comes back again
Time
gusty, gravelly
truly, terribly
surely, shudderingly
Time
with no breaks
moving ceaselessly
sweeping everything in its path
Time
like Waits sang it
with storm clouds
with dusty spangles
with stale scotch
Time
Hiding behind wit
There’s a world of hurt
Maybe
Or a mask
Of pure disdain
Everyday drudgery
Mediocre minds
The flow of words
A weapon
A tool for mass condescension
Either way
Get back in the ring
With the stuffed shirts
And let’s see what’s festering
Behind that calm mask
The Word Rummager 