no reframe, no burden, no stain.
if i was free as they say
at long last as the gull,
who's wing tip skids the crested wave
i would write my fame out
try the suit on for size
and bring the hammer down
just to see if it fits me
but i am the words never spoken
the gravel road that the pavement leaves
untamed and unbroken
i would bring the hammer down
if it's your face i see again
and again
no fame and re-broken,
as a light that has no tunnel
and speech that is unwritten
i would fill my mouth with rocks
just to channel the hurricane into
some place untaken
i'm sorry.
it's the last place alive on the burdened bank
the only window pain unshaken
so goddamn sorry
like a dead man who needs sleep
and here i am face up at the stars
retraced and nearly certain
and again
i'm sorry that this word
was a dry well in a desert,
that treachery clothed in scales,
breathed out like a Dane's firecracker.
a kiss that is sober
and a terror, as light flickers
in the corner of a hotel room,
or on a desert highway as we're carried
away by japanese manufacturing
and here we are,
the horizon still hasn't crested
i see that look in your eyes
and i still see them puddled blue
like the ripples arrested.
if what i called love
was more bunker than home
if i wasn't so close
to your body i'd never have known
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