Let Fly

Come out from behind your cover
Make me a better man
Let the young pan wren fly
Come over as soon as you can
He was a very instant person*
Ten feet ahead of all of it*
But it was so early morning façade
Every little stoned bit part of it
She was all total PTSD
The subject is surely closed
A shattering glowing in the past
Is what we all supposed
Their paths crossed over the river
Love of a finer distraction
Until the prelude fell away
Making way for a newer attraction
He shouldn’t have said that
As all the passion has flown
Too late he shuts his trap
Too familiar the feeling of being so alone
Come out from behind your cover
Make me a better man
Let the young pan wren fly
Come over whenever you can

*stolen from Paul Trynka’s “Brian Jones,” 2014

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Surely Not

Passed the cutoff for sycamore creek
up round about the CR 245;
down 71, looking for deerpath way—
it wasn’t like I was lucky to be alive.

Blew out the front right firestone
traveling at or around the posted speed;
came to stop beyond cypress creek—
changing the tire wasn’t that much of a deed.

But jacking the 2004 was half a bit harder
as the tears fell out about my taut reserve;
seems the bells had just begun to ring—
what high truth do the chimes preserve?

Back down the road at half passed the rain
needing a bathroom stop something awful,
like I knew might not ever see them again;
exited at a station in a manner not quite lawful.

Email said it simple, nothing quite so very grand:
she was taken at 5:11pm to the seton highland.