Incubus, Handwritten


While you were sleeping, the National Guard took your baby away.

No, I'm not one for children; this might not be a special case.

No, I'm not one for much of nothing

I'm not nothing for much of anything

If you were fused into my DNA, there would be your proof

God, if you listened, you would have walked the hallways of my veins

Taken that ill-begotten disease away

Touched my cortex and sent me comfort

Touched my prints and sent me peace


It would be so much easier

Succubus, take this down -

If there were something to be seen

It would be something I'd already found


While you were sleeping, your Golden Boy slept somewhere old.

Hanging in the space between your ringtones

Huddling in the eaves under your fingernails

No, I'm not one for empathy

No, I'm not one for believing

I'm not one for not much of nothing at all:

Writing some obscene love story

In which Zeus and God and Moses and you danced

And I watched, and it was enough


It would be so much harder

Incubus, scratch this out -

If there were something to be lost

It would be something that shouldn't be found


You promised that there was a heaven

Some door-to-door savior raised my hand

Said, "Teacher, I don't believe in Hell

I don't believe in no Promised Land"

You grabbed my pores and kissed me deep

Buffing out the dents from a hard landing

Promised me an Armageddon; some sort of ending

Some sort of God, but I don't see anything


It would be so much better

Athena, scratch this out

If there were a God to believe in

It would be someone who could be found


You should have been there in the beginning

Not this semi-permanent ending.