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Row House, 1994 | James Casebere https://t.co/BNgOoD5nHj

There and back

It was the ride of a lifetime
That turned around so much
Here off to leave the place we slept
To fight the world and such

We left everything but the sky
In our hearts it stayed tight
By love it stood alone that time
To us it only felt right

The tire blew up before some time
The distance fell short that day
Under the stars’ night we thought that
We had not picked a way

Together we ran forever to stay
And to be with each other
Every city had a small town
All towns looked like another

The road kept us bumping around
Holding on for our love
The way got rough and hard and tough
Hardly with heads above

The road came to a stopping point
Waiting for life to live
Our place is here the time is now
To stop running from time

Feeling insecure, are we?

we stay within the confines
of our bodies and the concrete;
we communicate
with simple greetings
while we hurry on
to more important things
...classes, appointments, critical meetings...

Hello there.
(do you see my face?)
       (don’t be alarmed
        dear, it isn’t really mine,
        this is only stage make-up...
        and I put it on sometimes,
        when I want to hide
        or pretend to be
        anyone but me...
        You understand, don’t you?)

Hello there.
(do you hear my words?)
       (I fancy them passionate purple and red,
        but you disagree
        claiming they’re deceitful green.
        and when they float
        from my mouth
        dear, you’ll find they buzz
        around your ear,
        until they decide
        it is safe to crawl in.
        next, the decision is your's alone
                will you chew on them for the time being
                savoring what they have to offer,
                will you find them true
                and better than all that saccharin shit
                you’ve been eating up till now?
                will you be finicky, as you usually are,
                will you go in unwillingly,
                and find they are rotten
                will you spit them on the sidewalk
                and run quickly away?
                will you mold my words...
                like jell-o...or play-doh
                ...or kids with mashed potatoes...
                and then, when your new sculpture is complete
                ...a masterpiece in its own right...
                will you hand it back to me
                ...well, by then, it's not the same
                ...words switched, meaning’s changed)

Hello there.
(do you see me stroll away?
...and I seem confident inside these confines...
it’s as though self and sidewalk have no effect on me)