I mark my place in sound

here is where i am

raspily breathing through my new smoked lungs

slowly clanging bell of

tony & sons knife sharpening truck

stops to hone a cleaver

some lawnmower blades

ssshk ssshhhhk

someone, a womans voice

wracked

screaming “freeeed! Freeeeeed!”

somewhere on the train tracks.

Last night you were crying on the porch

“this city is colder”

“noone meets my eyes anymore, things have changed”

i hugged your shaking shoulders, my old friend

cried with you, like i always do

things always change here.

That's the nature

the shrugging shoulder of the mountain

gives us air

and luft

softly blows out old plans and

smooths our foreheads

I'm thinking now of old sounds.

frying of breaded meat at the family castle on Rachel.

The whine of baby-killers clearing snow from the sidewalk

voices forming strategy on our centre-sud porch

idealism breaking in the sun like crystalline dreams

after quebec

after the cellos and low voices on answering machines

and the wind blows through

blowing with it our intentions to quit smoking

to get away now and then

to find better work

i've been low to the ground, my old friend

our laughter together is all i've eaten for days

but i've learned to live on that

and sucking on the splinters of those dreams

this is my city after all

that at least

never changes.

verse= Bm/G
bridge= E/G/Bm

I can't see you
i'm turning up the spotlight
i can't be there
i'm lost in my own head tonight
welcome back to
all the friends you left behind
i can't seem to
lose the ones i tried to find
feel i'm sinking
noone here to pull me up
sun comes through here
spills the water from my cup
there's no mention
the future is a falling tree
best intentions
are gonna pave the road for me..

the trains crash like giants bowling and the strange black moving thing scoops along in the distance, bewildering. is it a crane? i'm stiff and want to be back up north with my toes in tea colored water. i like these days to spend the day not talking. i'd like to not talk to you sometime.

someday the grey will take over and i wont be looking out this window, hearing what i hear seeing what i see. the cottonwood waves. the sea promises. the roads lead away and break underfoot.
listening to trains listen to them listen to themlistentothemlisten.