on the day that i first saw you
we were running underground
one hundred thousand people
screaming crazy all around

i bumped into a mailman
and i fell right into you
i looked right up into your eyes
and you gazed in mine too

the two of us were lost
staring in each others mind
i knew just what were her thoughts
and she knew just what were mine

but we didn't have the time
to stay and meet each other right
we had to get straight to the pods
and take off into night

as the war was ending up above
i grabbed you off the floor
i told you that we had to run
to make it to the door

you said no i cant make it
then you stopped and asked my name
i said no ill never let you die
we're getting on this plane

we got inside the doors
and only one seat was left
you looked into my eyes
and i hugged you close to my chest

and then i threw you back
and i locked you in the chair
i ran outside the doors
as you screamed no this isn't fair!

i said i never did that much in life
and if this is the last thing that i do
then im happy that i gave my life
i gave it all to you

im happy that i let you go
to sail into the stars
my apocalyptic one true love
i've given you my heart

No need for dramatics but cinderblock house arrangment tempo
Is not equal to the federal concordance
Checking back
No
No
No wait
equals

What professor 25

Bury me under a thousand pounds of unwritten promises;
You are the sand that weighs heavy upon my shore.

While the shadow ghost of dreams dances lightly through currents of my remorse,
The moonlight shimmers brilliance upon your still waters.

Bury me under a thousand pounds of unwritten promises;
Hold me fast within the depths of your silent longing.

I poured my grief into your ocean;
My love fell gentle into your waves.

My ex almost lover slides down the page of my messages.
I've got a whole book of faces, and his is the only one I'm looking for.
I have to click the 'see all' button to even catch a glimpse of him,
And even then, it is only his back in the mirror as he walks away.

I count days, hours, moments.
I memorize lines, words, syllables.
Soon, I will make the decision to try to forget him.
The lovely ex almost lover does not know this.
He thinks (at least I imagine he does) that I've already forgotten.

But he beats a staccato song inside my chest, like a hard rain on packed, dry earth.
He wakes me every night with his silence,
Like summer coming to an end, the cicadas ceasing their chorus.  
You don't know how accustomed your ears have become,
How much you need that sound, until it vanishes,
Becoming nothing more than an echo of memory.

A week goes by before you ever realize what it is that has been intruding on your sleep.
There is an absence of the familiar,
and to keep yourself from falling off the edge into the abyss,  
'dear God, will I spend the rest of my life alone?'
(Breathe!)
That habit of loving shadows reinvents itself.


*Once, I believed in fairy tales.
Maybe, I always will.

My neighbor mows his grass at night.
Back and forth he marches, pushing his mower in tight, tidy rows.
He has a lovely sprinkler system.  
It keeps his lawn green, and growing, year round.

Also, he decorates.
For fourth of July this year, he hung a light up American flag on his garage door.
He messed up a little, and it hung upside down.  
He never did fix it, but I'm pretty sure he's much more patriotic than I am, even so.  

In October, he hung a giant, painted jack o lantern on his fence, along with a black cat.
They looked nice, friendly even.
He took it down on October 30th, and he kept his porch light off on Halloween night.

I don't remember Thanksgiving, but I'm sure there was something,
A turkey, bales of hay, pumpkins.  
Probably, he wore a Pilgrim's hat to work every day.  
I would have liked to see that.

At Christmas time, there was a light up tree that he planted in his front lawn.
Also, reindeer, those white ones with lights that move their heads up and down.
Best of all, though, he had one of those leg lamps.  Like from that movie, 'The Christmas Story'?
And it was no scaled down version like you might find at Target, let me tell you.  
No, this leg belonged to a woman  five foot seven, at the very least.
I could see it shining from his living room window every single night for a month.

My neighbor mows his grass at night.
Or sometimes at five in the morning, if that is what works best for him that day.
Two or three times a week, I hear him out there mowing.
Yes, even in January.

His wife operates the blower.  
She blows the leaves that fall off my trees and drift into her yard.
She blows them into the middle of the street, then turns, and goes into her house.

Sometimes, the two of them will sit on a bench in their yard.
That bench faces my yard, my front door.
Whenever they sit out there, they look straight ahead while they are talking.  
It FEELS like they are talking about me.

Me, and all my fallen leaves from the Red Oak that have not yet made their way into their lawn.  
Me, and my Bermuda grass that hangs over the side of the curb, crispy and brown.
That grass scares them, threatening to creep across the road and into their own landscape.
Me, and my hooligan children who turn on the water hose in the summertime.
They just let it run while they play and laugh.  
Sometimes, they squirt the cars driving by.
This drives the neighbors bonkers.

I remember when we first moved in, they brought over a casserole, and introduced themselves.
I thought, 'Oh boy, they are gonna be tough.'
And they are.  They are.