Hey, Mr. Youthere. I see you counting rain spots as they light upon the sidewalk.
I hear you counting grievances, see as you forget to blink your eyes, and all the while, mine are getting dry.
Hey Mrs. Youthere. I peeled back all the floorboards in your room while you were sleeping.
You were watching for quite some time. I could feel your prying eyes, and all the while, the eyes I felt were mine.
Now she’s lying in the bathroom in a pool of little seedlings, sterilized by self deceiving, tranquilized with disbelieving. Smell her candles with their broken wicks, their wilted wax and a flame that licks her fingers on the one hand while its sister gets her an herbal fix. A repair to get her through the next few hours, seldom sweet and often sour. But now she’s in the town square, beaming, handing people flowers. Seeming to have it all together, more so than these birds of feather. Annd while we wonder how we can do the same, she’s running home to kiss those flames again. Mrs. Youthere – I’ll be seein you.
Why try to justify the past with your subjective abstractions? You know, sounds we make, giving names to things that we don’t understand at all.
Now his suitcase buckles tightly over faces stuffed with feeling, from dreams that had been stealing through his bedroom while he’s sleeping. And the person that he will be today will just pack his bags and fly away over fish and trees and birds and bees, and dive headfirst into the sea. Just to be alone for once and hear nothing but his spirit breathe. Because all is one and that’s what he sees as his body dies and his spirit’s free again. Mr. Youthere – I’ll be seeing you.
Feel the vibrations laced with sweet invention. Two handed composition. Independent voices in communication. And all the while, the many we heard were one.
Now she’s throwing herself a party to which I wish I was invited, but I know I’m not the only one who did not receive a letter. She toasts her life all by herself with a bottle of poison that never touched the shelf and all the while we never knew just what the hell you were going through. You took a vow of silence, but how is god supposed to hear that? You put your faith in a plastic bag, opened the valve on the helium tank, and out poured the grace that would take you away. If I’d a-known you were leaving I’d of asked you to stay. Mrs. You there – I’ll be seeing you.