MemoryIt's a double-edged sword,and I'm damned either way it swings.Too much of my past brings tearsalong for the ride,because changes always leavethe biggest marks,and change is hard-walking away from homefor the last time,standing at an early-morning bus stop,wondering where I'd bein a month's time,and who would make a sweet sixteenbirthday cakefor just another street kid.Hearing his whistlejust as the train doors closed,and knowing he'd read my notemoments too early.Seeing his face fall apartas we watched ten feet of distancebecome twenty-fifty-two thousand miles.Poker-faced listeningas another a
Breathe AgainI saw it cominghours ago-it was in the wayhis eyes were shifting away every time I glanced over,and how his hand kept brushing against mine.But there was the movie first,with a plot I couldn't follow-and a dinner I couldn't taste,before the band started playingand he reached for my hand.All was lightsspinning as we danced-or he did.I never felt the floor.And then the tempo slowed-his hand wasn't brushing my arm,it was pushing the hair from my face-and his eyes weren't shifting away,but locked on to mine-and as our lips touched for the first time,he stole all my air-and I sworeif I could just s
DriveI'm tired of these straight roadsthat go nowhere I want to.Responsibly flat and smooth,they lead to errandsand jobsand appointments with peopletoo serious for a summer day.I want hills,and blind corners-and apple trees close enough to shouldersto steal fruit from.I'm tired of these straight roads-I just want to drive.
InnocenceShe doesn't know I'm watching her-too busy puddle-jumping to turn her head.I think I'm standing too far backfor the light to catch me anyway.I hear her gigglesas a cat comes too closeand runs off,shaking wet whiskers.I love these little moments-they come so rarely these days.But sometimes,it rains-and she forgets she's thirteenand a big girlwho begs for hairsprayand curling irons-and for just a while,she's my little girl again-in all her perfect blonde-haired innocence.
HeavenIt's in the way you knowjust when to use my real name-and exactly how it makes me melt insidewhen you do.The songs that you sing to me,the way you can make me see a dancethat's never happened.The way you tease,make me blush-how you can hold mefrom across an ocean.But mostly,it's just you-and how you make me feelworth it all.
Break AwayYou know me so well,still, after all these years-I always say you haven't changed,but you make me wonderif I'm as different as I think I am."Close your eyes," you said,and twenty-plus years of memoriesshine on eyelid screens-rainwalkinghandholdingand "For Baby, For Bobby"-rainbow eyesat a five-a.m. trolley stop-going down on one kneeat the bandstand in the parkbecause I thought you wouldn't ask.But you put that necklace on mewith the too-big ring on itwhen my eyes were closed-the bite-mark I puton the side of your handwhen you held our son still wet-and my eyes openand I see-I let you gotwo
It's the killing that is the crime, not even the hate. You really have to be a nutter to take your dislike of someone/something that far.