I breathe in, breathe out
and the words of ancient days travel down forgotten ways
on the breeze
back to me.
And they buzz in my ear, tell me to
listen, listen, now listen.
Don't speak in silence or sigh a syllable,
and you're reminded- no, I'm reminded
of mortality and the way a raindrop laughs against the backdrop of the world
but still goes splat at the end of the song.
I am motif, reoccurring reality
but I'm going, baby,
I'm gone.
And you'll be gone too,
just like everyone you hate to love,
fingers sliding off the thread made of imagination and those teeny, tiny stars.
We're a bunch of mongrels;
some real rough grimy fighters.
But you're laughing at me because you know that just ain't right,
you're laughing at me because there's a swindler on my tongue.

I breathe in, breathe out
and the troubles of yesterday skip along my driveway
on the morning-after trees
up and away from me.