there’s too much, too much, too much, love.

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



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