Uprooted

Trees are still trees

if their roots are not deep,

even if you remove them.

Branches and limbs

are intangible things.

That's a fact,

but it's not been proven.

I am alive,

but I am not blinking,

I can't catch my breath,

my ears are still ringing,

pulled up my roots,

but I am replanted,

I'm growing back,

you can take that for granted.

I'll abandon my flaws

if you call off the saws;

don't cut me down.

I was reeling with drought,

so I moved up and out,

but I stayed in the ground.

I am alive,

but I am not blinking,

I can't catch my breath,

my ears are still ringing,

pulled up my roots,

but I am replanted,

I'm growing back,

you can take that for granted.

Trees are still trees

if their roots are not deep,

even if you remove them.

I'm Hibernating

Whether you're aware of your limbs,

or of your hair,

you're the spitting image of you in glass.

You've got scratches on your arms,

and you sleep through car alarms.

Who is stealing all the cars as you sleep?

Knives can cut the locks,

we can set back all the clocks

just to lose another hour awake.

We'll live twice in every day

that we keep the sleep away.

I'll be good and keep my mouth shut.

I know I can breathe,

but that's not enough.

I feel like I'm sleeping,

and I can't wake up.

Stonethrower

I threw the first stone,

I broke the door,

and someone got stuck inside

and fell to the floor.

And I drove for hours,

landlocked and blank,

hills all around me with no one to thank.

And when I got back here,

climbed up my tree,

and nobody saw me,

I watched them so carefully.

Trapped like mosquitoes

fucking blood from your arms,

crushed so serenely without an alarm.

But you still walked me back

to the room when it was cold

and we were walking crooked.

I kept the copies,

I kept receipts,

I kept the blisters

on the bottom of my feet.

Well, I'm your assistant,

or maybe you're mine,

but either way you see it,

we won't make a dime.

Because we don't want it easy,

no, we don't like the woods.

We don't take precaution

when we know that we should.

But if we both just admit it,

that we both make mistakes,

then I think we can handle

all the change and the headaches.

But you still got me out,

when you kicked me twice

and took the keys and put them in my hands.

There's always something you're waiting on.

But if you just go now,

you can leave,

you can just go free.

I fell asleep,

accidentally so,

and I didn't wake up

’til an hour ago.

So I stood in my window,

still half-asleep,

with the stone in my hand,

the criticisms I keep.

I can't write conclusions,

they never make sense,

‘cause I can't end the story

when I'm still on the fence.

So I threw the last stone

and that set me free,

so I wrote no conclusion

and came down from my tree.

It Seems Easy

We can't keep living

if it's not what we're doing,

if all we are doing is waiting for death.

We can't keep working,

watching the clock,

putting on suits and failing our tests.

We can't keep sleeping through our alarms,

we shouldn't set them at all.

We can't keep commuting,

sitting on trains.

You had it right all along.

Now it all seems easy to me.

Flash Floods Don't Retreat

The piano's broken,

and the strings are coming loose.

The foundation isn't holding up the house,

so what's the use?

The dogs stop barking,

and the cats don't land on their feet.

The flash floods don't retreat.

Traffic lights take much longer to change,

but then speed up, switch quick, and stop again.

Construction stops, the sidewalks don’t warm up today.

Birds fall into the river,

and they swim, swim, swim, swim away.

Nashua

You shouldn't wait,

you couldn't walk,

it wasn't written out in chalk.

It wasn't fate,

it's not divine,

the lacerations in your spine.

But that's no excuse.

I could have been so much better for you.

You should take it out on me,

but you won't take it out on me.

You should hate the water,

you should hate the world.

You need to cut me out,

because I'll only let you down,

and you deserve attention;

I can't give you that.

It shouldn't be that every week,

I'm thinking promises I can't keep.

Well that's not fair,

that's not right,

‘cause you're not sleeping much at night.

But I'm no good use.

I should have been so much better for you.

And all I've done in half a year

is send one letter out of here,

on your birthday (September’s end),

and I haven't sent again,

Because it's no use,

because I can't seem to stitch you.

You should take it out on me,

but you won't take it out on me.

You should hate the water,

you should hate the world.

You need to cut me out,

because I'll only let you down,

and you deserve attention;

I can't give you that,

Because I'm no good use.

I should have been so much better for you.

Keys

I can't sleep in the waiting room.

I can't find the keys

that open both doors,

to let me on the stairs

and onto the roof,

Where there's actually air,

and room to swing my fists,

and my ears stop ringing.

I can hear everything,

But I can't stand on only one leg.

First Field

I want to stand in the middle of a field,

as a riddle,

with my arms outstretched,

with my figure etched,

and swing around three-hundred sixty degrees,

with my eyes open,

ears open,

mouth tied shut

and be everything.