“History can feel you”

History can feel you,
under the fear that sets in.
And you know you’re getting older,
‘cuz the garden overtakes the lawn.

The pear trees;
you fall asleep.
The rhubarb weeps under fallen leaves;
and the apple graves where you buried bees.
Come home.

He broke your heart.
She broke mine too.
When I feel I’m getting tired,
I fall on you.

Your salt on my lips makes my muscles ache.
Settle on down for an early wake.
Come home.
I’m not surprised if you do.
Come home.
Lord of mercy, I’m telling you to.
Come home.
Face the fear of the dark and my hand on your neck.

I laughed one day at the sun in the sky.
I felt it low and lazy like the tears of our time.
I went to heaven for going to church,
but most my life I spent Sundays playing in dirt.

Let’s behave like tonsils in tin and pray to pirates with a violin.

History can feel you,
under the fear that sets in.
Coming home is never kind,
but your laughter is.
There are voices in the shower.
There are tip toes in the rain.
My heart is under covers,
and the static burns my skin.

We’re gonna strike out the fear of heaven.
we’re gonna bring you to Hollywood.
We’re gonna pin you to a wall of dragon flies,
and watch you tremble in your amber tomb.

narrative poem written on 02-14-2009 by: on mattkane.com
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