Forward Isn’t Fast Enough
For now let me say
Without hope or agenda
I thought you’d be back in the writing room
Mandolin
There’s a global mandate for isolation
It’s insisted I dust off my guitar
Sequestered as it was, against a suitcase and a wooden wall in the shed out back
We’re together now, instrument and me
Harmonizing
You’re Gonna Miss The Island When You Get Home
Here we are along with the entire world
Asked by global governments to stay home
Look at us, in our living rooms, at our kitchen counters
You aren’t sick, are you?
Aren’t you home in pajamas?
Oh, Tiny Hand
When I watch my hand writing I say, “Oh, tiny hand. You vomit so often. You open that
mouth you keep in that pen and then you lose your guts.”
When I watch it scribbling, foaming at the mouth all rabid and unbridled, I say, “Fucking
thank god for you. I’m so glad you give me back all the nutrients I put into you. It’s like
we feed each other.”
Riot
Something has run away
It’s my train
The one I ride in
So my whiskey is mixed with tears
Maybe my train has sped off with the fork and spoon
But it’s gone missing and it’s WANTED
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