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Stairs to the Attic

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I decided on that evening

that I was through with sitting still.

I stood up and started moving

with a childlike fascination

for those doors that don’t have locks,

and the stairways that were blocked.

So I dug through the obstruction,

put my fist around the railing,

and each step was far apart,

and far away from the steps before it,

and the air was getting thinner,

until I couldn’t breathe at all.

And if I happened to look behind me,

there were miles and miles of stairs,

enough so I couldn’t see the doorway,

but I knew that it was there.

And on the last step I was dizzy,

‘cause there were stairs in all directions.

But I found another door,

and through the door there was the attic.

Without old clothes,

without a ceiling,

everything had opened wide

into the jaws of something bigger,

and suddenly I saw that I was

Upstairs and outside and freezing on the roof.

Finally, it had found me:

the answer, the feeling, and the truth...

That I’m small,

I’m smaller than the smallest fireball.

Dear (Version 2)

I saw you so still, so cold,

you laid outside the road,

your eyes were still open slight,

you left on that summer night.

Your mother was so confused,

her nose dug under your bruise.

She looked up at me, she spoke,

“Why bother? we’re all just smoke.”

Well I’ll tell you why:

It could have been you.

I drove back along the coast,

with hanging grey trees so close.

My passenger stayed asleep,

intoxicated deep.

So I went home and stared

out the window, I’m not prepared,

if I’m just going to be the rose

you drop on my final home.

It’s starting to rain inside,

let’s stay outside tonight.

It’s starting to pour.

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.

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.