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Sinkhole
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I've always felt that life's a sinkhole
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swallowing each day I get to give.
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But the older I get the more it feels like the American west.
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Something empty and clean, new as an egg.
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Now filled with great mountainous things
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that I've made.
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Like friends I've let hang in the wind.
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I hear them rattle on each other, I wish I had an older brother to intone.
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Some night music that gets in my bo-bo-bo-bones
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To remove every trace of the places I've kno-kno-kno-known
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Some days I feel like a well-received tourist.
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Some days a guest that just won't leave.
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One day an acre of trees.
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Then a little wicker wreath.
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If you strobe in between you see no change.
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But in an elemental way they're not the same.
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One could argue there's some growth in decay.
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But that's a cruel way to be kind, a lever for the weak of mind to tip big stones
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into the vacuum of being a-lo-lo-lo-lone.
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To warm up the hearth of a place that's no ho-ho-ho-home
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Oh what a load what heavy lifting.
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That light through cracks from ground that's shifting.
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You find yourself beneath a bridge, the rafters above about to give.
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Someone whistling above you and you know the next pi-pi-pi-pitch
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Think you better start bracing from when you're not some new ki-ki-ki-kid.
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I've always felt that life's a sinkhole
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swallowing each day I get to give.
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But the older I get the more it feels like the America west.
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Something that's always clean, no matter the age.
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Now filled with great mountainous things
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that I've yet to make.
#bigguy 🕳️
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