November morning

Sky’s warm to the touch

I’m running down the stairs

Just trying to keep up

A couple close calls on the freeway

A couple times I think I’m down

And I drive down past the scaffolds, cranes, and the signs

People here won’t just feed the earth, they won’t try

The places for me

Not where they’re supposed to be anymore

And it’s all just a mirror to my own runaround

Cupid’s stuck inside now, he’s trying to get out

Open the door for me

This isn’t where I want to be, he says

And the weekends are filled with the act

Of dressing and toasting the death of the calf

It’s only a matter of time

Before you walk down the aisle

And the sky rains down

White flowers and bassinets

Won’t help to keep the primrose path out of my head

No the pleasures of the unknown

Put their weight into my soul