a song
the smoke rings come up 'round my fingers and i
take another glass of bourbon before i go to bed
the raindrops keep rhythms for Ann Arbor's night
a deafening thump for each thought in my head
as i treat my displacement with curious songs
found an angel who lives a thousand miles east
but i cannot wait for her words for so long:
she wrote me in Harlem and she hugged me in Queens
there's no way to survive staring her pictures
when i think of her smile with its pearly gapped teeth
and her hair rough as wool; her eyes deep as Christmas—
the way they and entrance and they hypnotize me
give me I-80
give me 95
i'll drive to her with the radio on all night
twelve hundred miles
through rain and the fields
to guess what she's thinking; to hope for how she might feel
a suburban prison makes a new place to die
for the young and the restless, the ones who still dream
the hot New York summers make no one deny
how much holding someone creates barrels of steam
but i would still hold her if she led the way
through those Detroit winters that shiver and break
to the point of our demise, the grayest of grays
but still i will keep her and the snowfall at bay
there's no way to confront when you know she's so bold
when you see her lost pictures when alone in the night
the piles of loneliness open my eyes
but it's her who embraced me with her hearted demise
give me I-80
give me 95
i'll drive to her with the radio on all night
twelve hundred miles
through rain and the fields
to guess what she's thinking; to hope for how she might feel
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