Rome
Palm Sunday

dude band part 3
(dude, all that!)

Memories of places unseen
Voices at a premium
Eyes, movements, freckles crossing cleavage
Fantasies of the improper and the improbable
Fading longing of wants fallen by the wayside
Knowledge of time passing
Access codes and mysterious dial tones
Clocks misset and missing headboards

These things are the fragile connection I have
To home.

They hold importance to only me
Selfishly, sadly, as I push sleep away
The strength of bonds once held
Slip from my numb fingers
My nocturnal gloves wave back the traffic

I feel the distance during these moments
From feelings, dreams and the future
Now that I have no one to write for
But myself…fool, who else has there ever been?

I look at these words
And other recent scrawls
Wondering if others would find
Depression, Loneliness and Isolation
I know them all, yet am not there
I will read these pages later
And will be the only one who knows
Just how I feel today
Tired, content and indifferent

Probably seems strange things to be glad about;
Gratitude has it’s moments.

My dreams seem to have nothing
To do with me or my life
My wants seem to have nothing
To do with anyone else’s
My feelings seem to have nothing
To do with the impartial observer I’ve become

All there is is God
Being sober, diet Coke, time to polish under the tent
Clean towels and new tempos
Where my last case is hidden
My friends that I work with
The list inside my head
My prayers and the load bar set
The sandwich without pickle
(on bread that can be chewed)
The book that got away
How to get underneath the blanket
Saying goodnight to her boots
And the fish upon my window…

You can’t expect life to stop
Because you are not there
I suppose the same can be said
For all those who are here.

I exist, therefore I am not home.
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