In his last, bad, bitter days
He appeared to be brooding
Over lyrics drawn from lives
Long gone and more difficult
Than even his fractured days
Had been. Crying won't help you.
Praying won't do you no good.
It's a kind of helplessness
That can't be escaped without
Reaching past what's known about
What has been. You point your car
At a cliff fringed with red oaks.
You pick up speed, dodging trees.
And then you're hanging in the air.
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.