my new songwriting book says
bodies are magic in time
what are things
I want my shoes resoled
to polish them backwards
and buy the same pair every day,
to reduce it all like sauce to
one winter sunscreen
one pair of earrings that we share

mom powders everyone's nose with her spf
how peaceful are we with our noses turned up to the sun
like cats while
thoughtless blond dynasties around us
lose their children
who've gone blind from the glare of the playground
on a bright black friday

wow these are my ingredients,
mom dad brothers and sister
in safety with the sun on my face
but then i wonder if this a potential place
that guy in the leather jacket alone
sweep the idea under the bridge
wouldn't this be just the place?

we're in between and the middle is square
it's impossible to get lost on a walk when the blocks
never curve and with leafless trees its
easy to see the glint of the Ukrainian dome,
the trade off for the easy knowledge of where I am
is the heaviness of an unfruity town, the juiciest thing being
the sun gold metal of a Ukrainian dome
and the false cracks built into the church's walls
as if not taking itself seriously
and the bell starts laughing at its own joke

If I could walk back I would
but none of these edges bleed
I can't see how these stone houses
could ever give way to my wooden shack
no matter how long I travelled