Talk To Her

It all comes and goes in waves
Everything looks the same
The cornfields, the cows, the flies, the coughing
The musky air that fills our rows and permeates
Even through the ash-infested vents from the fires
Eating away at barks of trees like this moment
Eating away at the last dose of happiness lingering
On the dust of our bones

The other night, wrapped in crispy motel sheets
I clenched my body and pretended I was an embryo in my mother’s womb
It was the only source of warmth and comfort that could sing me to sleep
And now, I see the sheep out the window, on green pastures
I hope they have water

I sometimes imagine myself being reincarnated as one
And jumping over these low wired fences to freedom
I wonder how far I could make it without a human catching me
Taming me, bringing me back to their living painting
A life to look at as they wash the dishes
Smeared with my mother’s milk that they stole from me

It’s raining, finally
And the van is slowly drifting into the other lane
Eddie is driving
Everyone else is asleep, sometimes coming up for air
Their heads poking up like groundhogs before sinking back into their holes
But it’s not all dark and grim

There are moments of hope
They come to me when it’s quiet
They come to me when everyone is synced in their levels of happy
Which doesn’t happen so often, but when it does, it’s nice

I wonder if we’ll look back and think that these miles of cornfields
These anguished breaths, these forced smiles, these moments when we’re gone
The momentary calms
And the thousands of little bugs pressed against our windshield
Were all worth it

I don’t know exactly where I'm supposed to be
It’s a hollow thought that takes control of me

Don’t stop (giving up)
Don’t stop (giving up)
Don’t stop (giving up)
Don’t stop (giving up)

Don’t stop (giving up)
Don’t stop (giving up)
Don’t stop (giving up)