Sidewalks spit up names of old carving hands
they don't read the same as they did
When I got home my head started to drone
and I couldn't go back like this.
How have you been-
How is your head-
My how you've changed-
where did my friend go?
Til the drudge of my week
set fire to my Friday
which burned through my weekend
left a hole in my ceiling
then the empty space
just filled up with noise
like mom's early hush
from the traffic outside.
Darling depression you're some kind of inertia
and my blanket's ripped from under
I saw from bed airplanes over head
coming so close but never touch down
The ohm of the microwave, hum of my A/C,
noise I don't like and some how I need.
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