there are fragments of memory here years left dead nothing to hold it back now face has fled the seagulls wept the lighthouse bells the bleating of the sails your here swept over the sand blocking out the sun ten years ago on a gravel road we were both so confused and i saw you that night in the back through the light people come and people go some you bury and some you don't if there's a stone out there for you there's a stone there's a light in the ocean there's a light where we can die

Now let's go back, the day in may when we first met When I first kissed you on the stairs The days go by, the pain subsides, we cut it back We both left something there Now we are falling down again We were both falling into it We were both falling on your bed Now let's go back, the august sun, a tire track When both followed on a dare Four years go by, still pain resides, we cut it back We both left something there

It’s 3am, a siren wallows by, staring at paint chips listening to the sounds a city rotting on refuse of a million darling people and I’m left thinking I’ll be blind forever I wasn’t there the day You forgot how to say your name I heard it from a phone The music’s over now Dog has died in the backyard grass the cancer’s taken home Give me Glengary leads Give me someone to sell on the idea that these things will turn out, when we’re turned out because I don’t believe Today I called people all across the country and asked them for money they didn't have sold them on the tragedy of hope sold them on the tragedy of hope there’s never a dial tone you can’t reach a soul

walking down the boulevard watching all the lights go out slipping through the cellar door smelling all the rain set in rain drips off the eaves silence left us thunder down leaves fall off the trees sleep was in our hearts when we were younger than now everything was satisfying when we were reckless and loud breaking plates and prophesizing when we were vulgar and proud everything was everything broken on the sea salty spray and blood shot eyes santiago dreams empty bottle quiet breeze falling to your knees sleep was in your heart

Don’t forget to show all my mail to your friends Don’t forget to blow out the light when it ends She prays for the Dalai Lama She prays for the Pope of the Romans The blessings of Orleans’ Parish She prays for us all Don’t forget to carry a piece of my hair Don’t forget to bury your dead in the air She watches buildings falling She looks for hope in the ashes She prays for the dead-end Catholic She prays for Allah

I own the lost & found He owns the airport I own the airwaves and all the spaces Inside my cardboard box, there are pieces that don’t belong I own the lost & found. She owns the sellers of the parts I have a cardboard box She has the pieces Between the buildings You call those spaces Dig up the concrete Put in a building again But if we don’t want it They’ll build it up faster for sure Because you call them spaces And they call them places you don’t belong I own the lost & found He owns the sellers of the parts I have a cardboard box He has the pieces I saw a girl today her pretty face was real low Behind her silence, there was violence for sure She’s got a space some broken parts She told me to go away and put her hand against my sweater I own the lost & found He owns the sellers of the parts I have a cardboard box He has the pieces I know a neighborhood A man there was shot up good Blood in their sidewalk Blood on their windowpanes He had a child A blue-eyed boy But someone was angry Someone was sad enough to kill I own the lost & found She owns the sellers of the parts I have a cardboard box She has the pieces Driving a dirt road You see a haystack in the bend Get out of the car seat Run in the hay field But you see their lover And they think you love her to death Get back in the car And drive until forget that face I own the lost & found She owns the airport He owns the milkweed She owns the monarch butterfly But I own the whole damn field and sky.

She hides in a closet on shoebox lids through musty suits uncle works on a bottle cigarettes, t.v. set mom and dad scrape their plates by the Christmas tree they don’t see him the bedroom door, closes in and there’s a shotgun underneath his couch “but he finds me…and he loves me to keep…” “I’m feeling sick. Can we go back to grandma’s yet?” out on the porch the house was loud; she told him so walked into the yard to get some air, against a tree “little bitch,” he called. “too conceited to stand by me I’ll do you a favor, put you in your place.” grounded, hands around her face “I’m feeling sick. Can we leave the party yet?” Empty grows a hungry smile staring down trapped by the gaze a body; the object; a body; libido