I sleep on my back
Cause it's good for the spine
And coffin rehearsal.
I know a psychic who
Reads her own palm and
Her findings are personal.
She keeps her fists shut tight
And she sleeps on her side.
Well maybe she knows
Something I don't know.
But I am still alive, in love,
And wide-eyed in my time;
Not a mummy shrinking in its cloths.
Your cat clawed out my eyes
While I was distracted by your smile.
And now my sockets sit
Like empty catcher's mitts waiting.
And you ask me if there
Anybody else that I’m dating.
‘Anna & Nathan’
Anna, I’m patient,
But your painted pony is fading,
Lost like a snakeskin in high grass
And out there thrashing like a pet
Bird caught in a jet stream, that's me.
You counting blessings ‘cause
Your not worth ought to be less
Cream in your best dreams.
But God put a song on my palm
That you can't read
I’m lucky to be under
This same sky that held
The exhale from your first breath
Like a ring on a pillow of clouds?
But you my tongue may stutter
But my gift heart screams clear
And swells to burst
Between the wrapped lengths
Of its baved ribbon cell.
But I am still alive, in love,
And wide-eyed in my time;
Not a mummy shrinking in its cloths.
There's a moth flock in my gut growing;
A tug at my groin like tides trying
To pull moon towards them,
I can't ignore them.
And when we say your name
Our tongues catch flame.
And you wonder why we ain't
Got nothing to say.
‘Anna & Nathan’
(At your house, Embroidered
On a kitchen towel.)
Anna, I’m patient,
But your painted pony is fading,
Lost like a snakeskin in high grass.
And out there thrashing like a pet
Bird caught in a jet-stream, that's me
You’re counting blessings ‘cause
Your net worth ought to be
Less cream in your best dreams.
But God put a song on my palm
That you can't read
I’ll be embalmed
With it long before you'll see
