TYING MY SHOES
You say that I'm never to keen to leave this place. You say that you never wanted to hit me in the face more than right now ever before. But can't you see that I'm only alone casting lines out to catches who can swallow my presence and pretend that they know what I know? But you're going to town, have to open your mouth, and empty the contents on to the floor. But if I'm ever supposed to, as you'd say, get out, then I'm only several inches from the door. Hurry, hurry, you say as I'm tying my shoes. But your hands, nervous and messed up, if they were tying you shoes and you slipped up and had to start new, I would never say hurry up to you. Or open my mouth or get mad about it because that's just something that I wouldn't do. But you have to open your mouth, as your eighty to town, and empty the contents on to the floor. But if I'm ever supposed to, as you'd say, get out, then I'm only several inches from the door.
YOU PROMISED ME
Step by step we make our way walking through a crowded place. The shining streets soak my feet, you push the doors and I'll buy the drinks. Fact to face, a change of pace, your hectic job, my living space, I'll wait to see, I'll board my plane, just promise me that you'll wait for me. Sitting down, the Brooklyn air and thrift store couch, your living room. The fabric walls that we went through; me barefoot and you in your tennis shoes. The way you taste, your scratchy face, the messy way that you say my name, it happens with a planned out trip. I'll take the step just wait for it. With a fading day the skyline sets keeping us as silhouettes. The bands we heard, the plans we made, the landmarks seen, I'd never met. I won't forget, when I reside, the way we felt and "the other guy." I'll wake you up before I leave, just promise me that you'll wait for me. Long since the hour of moving trucks, beating hearts, and alcohol. Our hands melt fast like neon signs and summer loves. We both will fall out of the game. You look the same, you've grown a bit, but you haven't changed. It's been awhile, we'll wait and see, but don't forget what you promised me.
CLOSING THE DOORS
I've been waiting for you, my dear. I've been waiting for you over valleys and mountains. It helps to keep counting the days. Last night felt kind of strange, my dear. Last night felt kind of strange. All the blankets and sheets and the lies through your teeth that I fell through. And closing the doors never helped me close up the room now I'm hosting the gathering when all the men will be boys and the girls sing the chorus again. I've been writing your name, sweet pea. I've been writing your name on the hotel hall, in all the bathroom stalls, it's for you. You came to one of my shows and I saw your face from the candle-light glow. My fingers forgot where to push in the knots of the wood. Closing the doors never helped me close up the room. Now, I'm hosting the gathering when all the men will be boys and the girls sing the chorus again. And holding your hand never helped me forget that truth. Now I'm hoping you're right this time and all the boys will grow up and and the girls start to see a new day; that all the boys will grow up and the girls start to see a new day; but all the men will be boys and the girls sing the chorus again.
LACK OF HEIGHT
With every new day that makes me crumble up further, degrading, I am losing myself dreaming of you. Dreaming of the last time I saw your face when it disappeared from the staircase. You were so pleased with yourself. But I tried to kiss your cheek when we hugged goodbye. I tried, but the lack of height made me kiss your neck instead. After the street signs got hazy I stumbled the streets, I was fading, trying to act like I wasn't steep. Our backs against the glass, the taxi cabs and unpaid tabs, it's hard to act like I'm asleep. I tried to fight the morning light but it poured through your open door and I tried to keep my eyes closed for good, but I opened them before you did. Our backs against the glass, the taxi cabs and unpaid tabs, it's hard to act like I'm asleep. I'm falling asleep. I'm falling out of you.
And when we kissed, your eyes wrote up a bigger part of a wilderness left uncertain. The bottles drain under ground from the spot they lay and we knew. The digits crept, crept up and hid down the window sill. The backyard tent set was broken and we knew. You're from South Dakota where the winters are spring, but the spring time is dead so the summer nights are spent restless in red. Out in the court yard we'd sing with the birds sprawled out on the benches off on to our backs. It's what we rehearsed. So I looked up, the tree tops drown out the emptiness that we felt. You're from the south shores of Jersey where the winters are spring, but the spring time is dead so the summer nights are spent restless in red. Out in the court yard we'd sing with the birds sprawled out on the benches off on to our backs. It's what we rehearsed.
WHERE HAS SALLY GONE?
Little girl, little girl, watching over daddy's farm from your spot in the old oak tree. Little girl, little girl, in your spot that over looks all the flowing grains of grass and harmonies. Where has papa gone? Where has papa gone? To the coast. TV dinners, magazines, he's gonna make it on the scene. A new Mercedes with a financed lease. A little girl to sow the garden while he's chasing down his dreams a little late under the fake palm trees. Little Sally's stressed because she can't quite reach the dresser doors or cabinets. Little girl, little girl, in her spot that overlooks, she sees a thick rain and an over flowing creek. Man the latches! Ground the floors! The wind is knocking at her door, but she's too little for that latching job to work. Out the door she flies but the wind won't stain her eyes or the collars of her dress. She's with the rest of them. Now, Where has Sally gone? Where has Sally gone? To the coast. Just in a different way. To the coast over the Atlantic Bay. To the coast and she helps the sun each day to shine over you.
CLENCH MY TEETH
I woke up last night to the sound of your cries. After six different states I still wake up. I woke up last night as hard as I tried. After six different names, you're what comes out. In the morning my face hurts from the way I clench my teeth when you're face comes creeping in. I tend to clench my teeth a lot. You said that one time, "as hard as you try, you'll never pull the wool over my eyes." So I said in reply "you know, I've got some things to hide it's true, but it's only with you that I hide so much." But in the morning, my face hurts from the way I clench my teeth with your legs around me tight, I tend to clench my teeth a lot. I tend to clench my teeth a lot. But this morning you said that your legs hurt because when I clench my teeth you squeeze em just to let me know you're there. You say I clench my teeth too much. Just keep squeezing, babe. Just don't give up.
People walking faster down crowded sidewalks passing. You and I lay in the grass. A fire fly lands softly in your lap and, smiling, you kiss it's wings and watch it fly. Watch it. People watch us closer through dreamy eyes. They wonder why can't they be in our shoes. So, hand in hand we'll take each day as though our lives were incomplete and everyday I'll hear you say, "Don't look back because you know that I'm right here. But if you do and choose to fall, just close your eyes and call my name. I'll be there to share my wings." The summer months grow warmer and by the lake we'd swim til dawn. Diving deep, we'd kick our legs. And on a bed we'd laugh, go back and forth with stories passed, our voices bouncing off the walls. I can hear yours still. Though the water's still as warm and the sheets stay tangled on my bed, nights seem cold when you aren't here. And even when I'm feeling close to slipping, that's when your words approach me and the echo down the halls. I can hear yours still. "Don't look back because you know that I'm right here. But if you do and choose to fall, just close your eyes and call my name. I'll be there to share my wings." People walking faster down crowded sidewalks passing, and every face looks just like yours. Every window reflection makes my eyes look twice as hard to make sure you're not looking back at me and I can hear you saying, "Don't look back because you know that I'm right here. But if you do and choose to fall, just close your eyes and call my name. I'll be there to share my wings."
GREEN TO GREY
Hold me close, hold me close. I am alone. Little boy, little boy, your eyes are just as wide as mine. Wider than mine and I'm a little girl, a scary world, I want you to take me by the hand in a grocery store. Morning came of Tuesday and I'm green to grey, green to grass and back to grey. Pockets full, a quarter short, my feet are planted in the lawn on River Drive. Gravel pits, my nails are bit, your hands are much too high to grab and I'm too small to climb. Morning came of Tuesday and I'm green to grey, green to grass and back to grey. Oh, on wednesday, I am green to red, green to blood, and back to red. Say, "la la." Hold me close, hold me close. I am alone. Say, "la la."
FIVE MONTHS TOO LONG
Go look inside the white cabinets where the wood meets the glass. There's a note tucked inside and it's words will remind you that it's not good bye yet, it's not so long. You'll take that flight, yet. There's no need to cry, yet. The beds made for you. Sitting alone, you're reading your books. I'm passing the Waldorf that you're just as high as when you stub out your joint. Packing your suit case, I'll walk the four blocks to the subway station. Taking the L train to where you're waiting for me. I'm coming out now so go on hold your breath, go on and hold it. I'm coming out now, just let me close my tab. Let me close my...