Many are dead and dying
and some are starting families;
that's the atmosphere. That's the context
for how we can rationalize decisions
like smoking away the afternoons:
blubbing about rural this
and the rolling yellows pecked about
with cardinals.
I'll even close my eyes to that,
and even a man who doesn't much
take to the sun can understand
the appeal of sand in the toes.
Well, well, well...
I read a poem about salvation
and another one about uncertainty
and that one was also about
the timing of shaking hands.
More importantly, I'm deciding
whether or not you can read a man
by if or how he eats a burger.
Our trajectories have been fueled
and postponed by those gritty old tunes
and somehow someone has made the time
to live bi-coastally when someone else
is trapped at home out in the woods
or stalled out back in the shop.
Get back when you have a moment,
call me back
call me back
and call me out
I'll run from them back into your arms.
