for a couple hundred bucks
we agreed to play house that fall—
in truth, it was the house of my dreams;
to the clash of age of adz
i touched the walls and pinched myself,
well i have known you, for just a little while,
but i feel i’ve known you, i feel i’ve seen you,
since the earth was split in fives.
twenty minutes into “impossible soul” and
i taste the first corn chowder and biscuits i
made from scratch,
the feel of those wooden bowls as I scrubbed them in the slate farmhouse sink as
you restarted the album from the beginning.
i feel the uneven pages of that copy of the poisonwood bible
i stole when they came back from vacation early
and i wasn’t quite finished.
i stuffed it in their mailbox months later with an apology
scrawled on the back of a receipt.
it’s taken six years for me to once again be able to
make it all the way through to the last lines:
i gotta tell you boy, we made such a mess
boy, we made such a mess
boy, we made such a mess together