i didn't love because it didn't love

we hardly even knew each other

and that was the glue

      stuck us together

kept us on the ground

while the peaches are in season

the trees just in reach

there’s little left to do

            but teach

i won’t let anyone hurt the pearl

the laudanum

      the mild form of the wild world

none of us

and none of this

      will make amends

let’s not be friends

   let’s not be trite

did you hear the truth song

                                the one by the giant

   ninety three

the more fool   i

it’s an estimate

            of what it’ll be

what you’ll see

in the land of cotton

where old times are

      all but forgotten

palm trees and sunshine

the basis of every story

from the gulf

      but smaller   seven

left to fend for himself

the aristocrat

            the girl

it’s easy to tell the stories

if you don’t let the truth

get in the way

make it a blue dress

make it so there’s

no need to confess

so there’s nothing to regret

      on the shore

in eighty four

      at seventeen

said i didn’t love

because it didn’t love

   in the art class

elaine floyd

   said

what

      said

   how

she was a hippie then

but she’s

      a hypocrite

now

you know it's time for you to go

 in the company of corpses

      three nights

   three times

         three

   and then

it’s up to me

they don’t say anything

they aren’t listening

   but

one shifted

and turned in the night

i woke

with a start

   asked ‘is everything allright?’

   before i chance remembered

before i gave to flight

   i tried

now   i no more read it

than lived it

      that’s just the facts

the fuse was dipped

then lit

   it glowed a good long time

      in low light

the higher the hang

the more dead   the ore

and that leads directly

   back to the corpse

have no doubt that the logic is sound

the sun comes up

just as surely as it goes down

now   if you’d come in the summertime

when there’s more accommodating ground

when the sight doesn’t much bother

    with the sound

and the hills hold fate

in the meaning of song

   they know how to sing

how to sing along

   alone

and undone

that’s english

where you feign death

the pressure works

from either end

to your middle

     muddled

big pressure

waits for words

understands what is heard

friendly chinese

two hours

or three

do not use

   this time

to explain

      use the time

to reclaim the remains

   introspection

is your name

that water was cold enough

and the bottle filled right on up

but   i bow out

hold back

   held down

         it is no worry of mine

on a black horse

   for hope

and through the kind of rain

that only wants to be

   snow

it weeps

  then it moans

you know it’s time

      for you to go

there’s no such thing as simple songs

i’ve watched no country

seven nights in a row

    not strictly an active watch

one and a half times with ponytail

      once without breathing

but never forgetting

         how you did the leaving

boyos have the heart scars

   after every beating

to prove that

          we can move it
   that there's blood on our shoes

               to match the blood on your boots

   

      you couldn’t just call it off

instead you decided

         the best route was to not talk

before the light went soft

   and you gave it up

with chamomile tea

   an infidelity

            on a monday

when he’d already called in to work

   so

that’s when he convinced you

  ‘we might as well make use of the church’

      on the run

on the coast

sailing winds

               the arrogant boast

here’s a toast

to the ones you leave behind the most

the ones who brought you to the air

      what future holdings do to fear

hot brown coffee has no care

just like you won’t hear

         the cow screaming

who

   and how it got there

makes you think ‘fuck the ones’

   who need to stare

who need to understand things

   or share

stay away from the kind of people

who like movies

      or music 

who get things done

so   yeah  

         that’s pretty much everyone

except the little boy

   lord fauntleroy

who took one last shot

with all his toys

headed east to wait

for daddy to die

      for the money to come

dressed you up like it’s 1981  

like declan patrick aloysious macmanus

   laid down his gun

   to spend his time

reciting schoolboy puns

ever clever down the rabbit hole

pouring concrete footings

   around your flagpole     

telling you all the truth

you choose to hold

   like

who you are

   and

why you’re here

  

      was fifteen the other f word

or was that father

      i used to burn certain suns to know that truth

but now i don’t even bother

might as well put a name on it

catholic

   convenient

      but everything
including ideals

         can be labeled as wrong

and

there’s no such thing as simple songs

for the contrarian

making the whole process

more complicated than it has to be

no-body would disagree

it matters not

how good you are

what good you do

or does it

is the final measure

more than cronbach’s alpha

more than just seeing

if the same answer

can be had again

are any answers

sacred

is any

          thing

   say

      cred

      sake

   read

for goodness sake

       for pete’s sake

my sake

   for me

what about that

years speeding up

only to slow down

in libraries

and on dirt roads

in locker rooms

in your mother’s home

atop her piano

more for holding up

photographs

than stirring chords

or sweet songs

sing along

   sing

alone

none of this

and none of you

see

the sunset

was not meant for you

nor was it meant for

everyone else

stone stuck

staring at it

without the words

to make a stand

only word enough

to meet demands

of consumer culture

that coffee colored vulture

with a shaker to the right

a stolen glockenspiel in the center

                                                          its silver bars glimmering in the middle

   of it all

the glimmer

   is something you hear

and if you hear it well

   you can see it too

you can make it through the

   hoop

through the roof

   even

and if that’s not enough

to get you to stop calling me

      steven

   then i don’t know what else

i can do for you

                         friendo

   defend it

make a case

tell me why

you ended up in this place

and why you feel such a strong want

   to heal the hate

to set it straight

   from out of state

the harm’s long gone

don’t you know that son

don’t you forget what we told

you when we said that

we know what the color yellow

   is

what the color yellow

   was

what the worth of work depends upon

when we sat on the back bumpers of fords

      always more than one

and just wanted to play golf

before we went back to work

before we came home

from the moon

or from utah

where god only knows what happened

and what that meant

the port in the storm

called itself arthur

but you always said

   ‘author’ like it was writing

our story

from the gulf coast

   ankle deep in crude

            strike broke

didn’t seem right to me

at the time

doesn’t seem any more right

now

despite my red subaru

and three green semesters

for the contrarian

the septuagenarian

   who tricked me

every day of the week

 *leaf cutting by Hillary Waters Fayle

http://hillaryfayle.wordpress.com/

maybe you're through

life gets even

in the end

a tragedy

southern

whites

still

depend on

finding dusk

neither

grand

nor

old

he didn’t

do as

he was

told

he didn’t

really

believe

did he

the money

was so

tempting

this isn’t

something

you learn

it’s shining

in dirt

like nineteen

seventy-three

the rain fell

one hundred

percent

the smoke alarm

battery

beeped

spent

again

like it did

back when

it had

the blues

it sang

bad news

and

no matter

what you do

if you play

those tunes

if you know

the loose

         well

maybe

            you’re through