a poem for flock

well the years have changed me
but not in your eyes,
it's a roundabout world
and we've no sense of size,
so we'll travel the world
and go wherever we want,
so we're back where we started,
but that what i want.

you're voice is whiny but your heart is good

the boys at home are content to rattle
and the pretty landscapes just keep on rolling by
while the director-types do their director thing
unaware of the staring eyes,
staring up at the stars praying, "let me in."

but it's a prayer that keeps on waiting,
and they can wait for their lives to pass and things
will just go on and on and on and people will love
but their ears will ring
with the silence the stars made from above.

the soldiers are coming home happy
and the cars are rattling by with a final note
so they make the best of their lives
'cause the future holds hope,
yeah, night is alive and the future holds hope.

the reason i want to be you (and not me)

well if there was an ounce of the freedom and an ounce of the love
i would give everything i owned just to be in your shoes
and i know it's no news but i want to be you so badly that
sometimes it hurts worse than it's worth.
when i'm turning every corner and hoping that i see
things that i've been told are impossible, unbelievable,
the longing i feel is nothing to the disappointment
when the world proves them right.

and why can't i be the one on the road who knows where he's going
the one who redeems himself at every turn who's got
guns and knives and yet he's the greatest man alive,
i would kill to be a killer as beautiful as this
or sacrifice the ones who don't deserve it -
but that's what makes you you...
not that it doesn't make you me...
it's just - there is no way to express everything.

i'll speak to you

the old man's car looks angry
whether he likes it or not,
and my old thing (her name is sadie)
sits, disheveled and hot.

while classic ballads blast my ears
i smile and sing along,
and the angry cars have known those years,
they smile and say i'm wrong.

i'll save you, sadie,
and fix you up,
you'll be a lady,
and lift me up.

i didn't know he had a station

i'd take your deal and make it double,
know full well the devil means trouble,
no guitar could make me stop
and no car would catch the cop,
just let me in. just let me in!

i'll sew my stitches and take the pain,
shoot myself before i'm slain,
just let cross the world like you,
see mountains, join the crew,
i want to live a life like you!

old music/habits, picking toenails, cool breezes, windup toys

so now i see him winding down
from the epiphany and the ecstasy
and it's too much of a blur, but i think he
hit something, or someone, and i know
it just felt so good.

see, that's a problem with poetry -
it's not as hard hitting or rambunctious
as her, or him, or the marionettes
that give you your joy because they're
so. damn. easy.

hobo

i see you're sitting on the side of the road,
and i wish i could tell all that i know,
but you'd tell me what you thought of how i live,
all the things i do wrong and the love that i give.
it's not quite enough just to sit down and scream,
you've got to do something, anything, anywhere.
there are too many tracks for one to make me care.

but i guess i'll say thank you for all you've said,
you're a good one and a bad one,
and maybe a friend.