Preamble

Comes before the walk...
Or maybe a walk that comes before...
Whatever it may be, it's ambulatory
     Thoughts after before-thoughts
             (not afterthoughts, mind you)
Are not preamble
     but, then again, nothing's at stake with those, either.

At least, not as much;
     they are taken as givens
     whether discounted or trusted
     reviled or loved
     It's acknowledged as "is."

Not so with the Preamble,
Not so with the Before-Walk-Thoughts.

Routine

It seems like finally at last
     it's gotten to the point I knew it would
I'm singing sad songs just for laughs.

And if it's half past time to just relax
     then I'll find myself looking for an empty hole
Unfold the map and circle relapse

I've got some time to waste,
Some empty space,
Some folks I hardly trust.
So, cell by cell, I'll move through
     this zip code grid
So long point A, point B or bust.

(I know) somehow the city smells tonight
It's funny, but I can't decide--
  it's sharpie pens or pesticide
     or fire on mountain pines.

Across the bridge, I see our ghosts,
     2002 on Dow Street.
Two years before the Fire of '04
     burnt mean for 3 years
     and numbered us among its casualties.
Good thing they can't see me...

I don't think that I'm on the first or last
     full-seated, sweat-reeking passenger car,
I'm in the middle of the train
     I'm a stow-away
     No window seat, here
     that's a fact.

In the middle car
It's never far
     to nowhere's gleaming teeth.
Front car's futures. Caboose is past.
     Center's going
Nowhere. Points A and B are just
  the bookends on the shelf
  and here I am, collecting dust.

And how this city sleeps tonight
Depends on the insecticide--
     how much they spray into the night
       and if I wanna stay inside.

Something in the Bushes

What's this funny feeling that I always get,
     after dark when I'm out in my yard?
It raises all the hairs on my goosebumped neck
And my hands'll start to shaking hard.

I think I got a lump down inside my throat
And I kinda wanna pee my pants.
When I hear a strange noise
     going rustle in the bushes,
(I) just can't help but cast a look askance

Well there's something...
     with 2 glowing eyes
Yeah there's something...
     stalking me outside
There's something...
     and I dunno what
But there's something in the bushes
     and I wanna run

Whatever this thing is, it ain't got me yet
     I'm losing hope though I keep running hard
I swear that I can feel it drooling on my neck
I never should've gone out after dark.

My legs begin to tire and I'm outta breath
Though I try, I think I'm slowing down
Now I hear quick footsteps
     closing in--they're right behind me,
It's a signal calling out my death.

Well there's something...
     with 2 glowing eyes
Yeah there's something...
     stalking me outside
There's something...
     and I dunno what
But there's something in the bushes
     and I wanna run

Standing on Bridges

I've got a friend who said to me
     one night sometime near dawn,
"I used to like some people here,
     but most of them have gone.
They've packed their bags and left this place
While I just linger on
          and so
          I wonder
          how much longer
They'll pretend to maintain bonds."

I answered him right quick and said,
     "My friend, that's all they got--
A couple fake connections and
     some distant place to rot."
"That's right, I guess," he said and turned
     away, no longer talked
          until
          he told me
          how much changing
Times had left him feeling lost.

He said, "We're left behind
They've moved ahead
And I'm just learning now--
If you're content to stand on bridges,
     growing up means burning down."

He turned his head one side
          and said
     to me and wore a frown,
     "If you're content to stand on bridges,
          growing up is burning down."

So let's pack our bags,
We'll fill this tank and leave this fucking town.
Not content with destroyed bridges,
          we might tear it to the ground.