Doppler

Now, there's no reason these nights can't
   dissemble our daytime woes.
With bottles uncorked, we'll paint
   friendly faces on daylight foes

              The ground's not shaking.
              Your breath's just ragged.
              Faces shine and cities glow...

but, come sunrise, we're flying blind,
   while keeping our heads low.

Still I remember the time that
   we chucked that radio
from that rooftop sinking to
   street level, speakers played Manilow

              Transistors scattered
              Our footsteps clattered
              Down the fire escape we'd go

laughing hard, police up in arms
   alleyways lead us home.

                    We wanted
                     to up and fucking leave

                    But we're tethered
                    to this place by our heartstrings

                    So we're always
                    celebrating our defeats

                    We wanted
                     to up and fucking leave

I'm off and running in circles
   around my own lasting fears
You're off the wagon and just
   rolling dice hung on rearview mirrors

            We're contemplating
             on relocating
             back to those familiar years

but sunrise comes, we're twiddling thumbs
   and hoping stormclouds clear.

Valued Subscribers

Signals get mixed up
                    we're broadcasting bullshit
I'll shout 'til my mouth's dry
                    you'll spit like a dragon
                the summers all static, now--
              I'll wait for the season
                to switch over channels
               for less interference.
                        On mute.

Bracing our brains
                               for primetime quakes
Kill off a day
                              trapped in escapes

The fate of the union,
                        the sake of my habits,
Estate of illusions
                     auctioned off from your pulpit
                   I'll shovel the static 'til
                   the street's within reaching.
                   Now follow new channels
                   with buzzing devotion
                           switched off.

Nice One, Shyamalan

It's damn obscene, these best-laid plans
     of mice, of boys, of knuckleballers--
     world-weary one-trick cowards
     plotting courses into safety,
     taking wrong turns on the way

Now I...? I was never good with signs
     green and white--bad with directions.

I'm the walking ghost of a better me
And the guy I used to be and me,
                                      we don't speak.
                      Estranged.
             Roll through each day
             horizon's far from home.

Night blacks out gunmetal grey,
grey-brown slush fills city streets
and asphalt colored X's fill
our blue and coffee eyes
Fade out                          Fall back.
               blizards come
          Ride out the margins
static clouds fill white-out skies
Skies we grasp for
                           skies we shy from.

lofty climb, now plummet earthward
                       So
         these muddy footprints
         trace out the path I took.

            "What a twist!"
                 Yeah.
                  Shit.