tell me what speaks to you when the water
becomes dull and the ice cream shop we hit one last time
never has your favorite flavor.

tell me what swells
under your skin when the drought ends and the way we
lie is the way we live.

we have formed a bond in front of large crowds, crossed
our legs underneath blankets and waited for people to throw
money in our hat.

we have taken up residence in the corn field behind the house
i grew up in. inside a hole i swear has been there for 31 years.

you say a storm is the only time we should ever participate in communion
but you were the first in line when we were offered forgiveness for our sins.

and i think the things you speak when the quiet inside me has forced
my hand are more for you than they ever can be for me

and this has taken ten years off my life, the way you gravitate towards
a bed in a stranger's home rather than this hole we built.

tell me how you hear these days when everything is muffled.

tell me how we can ever make it out of this field without learning
why we're here.

07/24/2011

Posted on 07/25/2011
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