Christians And Lions
Tender Sparks (October And Over)
October
and over.
There's never enough words
for my throat.
So cold
in the root cellar suburbs.
Low in the lowlight,
and high on tender sparks.
Water comes through wood
over my head
same as it would
through the hull of a dead ship
sailing on a slow sea.
And I've seen too many wrecks to think this year.
That horizon's
climbin' high's
it can.
This ladder flatters gravity,
and the bones we hold tremble our knees,
but they'll be worn no more.
There's all those girls
and all those boys
who liked me better when
I was weakened by loss
in all the right spots,
but I don't need to slap people in the face.
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