The Return to Why

When I got there they were standing in a line, they said
”Pick a number, its only a matter of time before yours comes”

So I did just that and it wasn’t until when
Many of them said “I’ve stood in this line all my life,” that I

Grew suspicious cutting my teeth on this
Can’t be the way that it is, but I’ve no proof that its not

As I stood there I fell deep into a dream, in it
I remembered singing on a hill for the trees (only for the, just for the trees)

And they clap their leaves, oh how I miss the sound
Could it be this line is too keep my under the ground and I

Made my way through the dirt towards all the things I forgot cause
This can’t be the way that it is and I’ll be proof that its not

Now I have no time for those who prey on earnest intentions
I have no generosity for those who take what’s yet to be guarded
Now I have no time for those who pray and pray, taking no action
Cause I have no intent to spend my life waiting in a line

Epitaph

I have one final request
Give me the moon for an epitaph
Be it my cascade that reads:
”A change of tide is never to far behind or far ahead”

I remember waking up
I don’t remember how I got
Here the weight of space and time
Pulls at my neck

I grew fond of broad daylight
I’m not sure what fondness stands
For because each and every night
Darkness and I must share a bed

So, it goes when I was young I wrote with wisps of clouds
”You ask of me be the sun and die with every dusk”

I have one final request
Give me the moon for an epitaph
Be it my cascade that reads:
”A change of tide is never to far behind or far ahead”

The streets hung over my shoulder
I was to carry them over and over
Over and over, each time
They broke my back

No, this isn’t volunteer work
It’s not what I’m up against
This is life and life is being cloaked
Stripped, and cloaked again

So, it goes when I was young I wrote with wisps of clouds
”You ask of me be the sun and die a thousand deaths”

I have one final request
Give me the moon for an epitaph
Be it my cascade that reads:
”A change of tide is never to far behind or far ahead”

Tempranillo

The summer sounds like lavender
This memory tastes like a nine
Ten, eleven steps to the front door
But how it felt like a mile

It rained all morning
But by noon the sun came with a warning 
To move towards you and by evening
I was swirling in red wine ‘round your living room

And I do believe I left my heart
At the bottom of that glass of tempranillo
Gathering dust on the coffee table

There’s 88 ways through my mind
Like the lines furrowed down a vineyard
One is the ebony tucked in your ivory eyes
And the wrinkles along their outskirts

And it’s so disarming
To think of you and August, so fondly,
How it bore our fruits and how we dangled
From the grapevine in full bloom

And I do believe I left my heart
At the bottom of that glass of tempranillo
Gathering dust on the coffee table

I’m gathering dust on your coffee table

Neverland

If I could take your mind off of this
I would soon fly it to Neverland
Time would fall faint in its tracks
No threat of it too quickly passing

To spend a life landscaping rituals
Placing each piece of a mosaic window
Then comes a time, time like a tempest
Sending branches right through the glass

If I could take your mind off of this
I would soon fly it to Neverland
Time would fall ill in its tracks
No threat of it too quickly passing

You had routines to give chaos an outline
Praying by them, kneeling at bedside 
Now they’re weighed and marked 
For sale by the pound at a market where no one is allowed 

If I could take your mind off of this
I would soon fly it to Neverland
Time would fall dead in its tracks

The Best

Here, yet again I am here
Blue with my grandmother’s ghost
Her and I are hanging from a beam in the basement
Upstairs the piano is playing itself
To the chairs and the books on the shelf
I guess I got my pick of a room now that grandma killed herself

The future just can’t be worse than where I come from
I heard there’s better music yet to be sung

Hell, hell is where sun turns ash
No fire that I can tend
Just a bag of my loved one’s ashes to dumb inside the river
Why can’t I cut myself down from here?
I can’t reach the ground from here
And it must be my fault cause there’s nobody left to blame

The future just can’t be worse than where I come from
I heard there’s better music yet to be sung

Wild

So she walked 110 blocks
And never looked behind her
Then she crossed into the night sky behind the city lights
And found relief beside her

Just when I thought I was chasing a dream
Putting on costumes and dancing in the rain
I realize this dream is the one after me
Got me climbing up ladders, aiming for a trapeze

Ever since I was a child
I’ve been running nothing short of wild

Casey Jones, its gonna take a little
“Moving on and getting over”
But I thought you should know what the view is like
From the end of this October

Its scented and glossy — nearly kamikaze
There’s crooks and nannies and paparazzi
In the nooks and crannies you’ll find vice and virtue
By the time you arrive they’ll be waiting for you

So, go ahead and crack that smile
It’ll strike you nothing short of wild

Standing before your wild eyes
I was your audience before you were mine
Standing before your wild eyes
I was your audience before you were, now you are

Three Windows

Three windows, oval room
Glass doorknobs lit by the moon
About midnight I sat here alone
Heard the nighttime sigh a nocturnal moan

Can’t stay asleep, glass of orange juice
The radiator tinks, so I hum, too
The countryside illuminated
In the dead of night I can hear the Earth thinking, like

Three windows, yeah, oval room
Glass doorknobs like little moons
Glass half full of fresh orange juice
Through a glass window, the world I view

Peaceful trees, still, white gravel road
Winter breeze trickles under the window
Endless fields, let me sit here and listen
A train whistles in the distance like

Three windows, yeah, oval room
Glass doorknobs like little moons
Glass half full of fresh orange juice
Through a glass window, the world I view

When I’m old I’ll remember the sound
I’ll remember the feeling of being up and alone

My Eyes for You

How will I hide my eyes for you
Down the hall the kettle squeals
Golden silk sheets in a golden room
My golden hour eyes for you

4 o’clock coffee and a cigarette 
Where 59th Street turns into a bridge
Have we still plans to meet at the Frick?
If so, I’ll keel my self out of bed

Cotton candy lie under a cotton candy sky
And as you fuss with the key to your room
And graduate to street from the stoop
I will walk up Park Avenue, wondering
How I’ll hide my eyes for you

The glow of a stoplight from green to red
On your face at 3AM
Spinning threads of gold laying on my bed
With your legs bent off the edge

How will you hide those eyes for me
When the walls are listening
We will be standing on a vacuumed tier
Under the luster of an old chandelier 

Cotton candy lie under a cotton candy sky
And as you fuss with the key to your room
And graduate to street from the stoop
I will walk up Park Avenue, wondering
How I’ll hide my eyes for you

The Wayland

If I knew what to say I’d say it
The tip of my tongue is a wasteland
If I knew I could stand I’d get up
Face down on a Tibetan rug
It smells like tequila

One ear to the floor like Beethoven
His voice echos up through carpet
It sounds like cold espolon white
Coating his lips, I kept them airtight
Under the moonlight sonata

After inhaling the first movement 
Four times each with different movements
Last night is still dissolving 
Like a lazy, voluptuous smoke ring
I feel like a queen