s u m m e r
the slow pulse boy
You never needed the time
To grow
To earn reprieve
Too fast you pulled the choke
And yet the engine held.
These small towns we pass through
Growing up there
Must have been something
Stop by and have a drink sometime
And if you need these words to cleanse
Just hold my hand while I speak.
You said Paris at the turn of the century
To see wet paint on canvas yet to be famous
Using ocher like the tobacco fields in autumn
To mask the feeling you've not yet been anywhere
And I know, 'cause I've been there too.
Postcards let me know the world
In full color on the fridge they hang
Sometimes I get to hear voices too
The Pacific rim doesn't seem so far away
And in thought it never is.
This central station
This depot
A place to breathe
A place to smoke
With great conviction.
The sun shines on the neck
Of the slow pulse boy
Reading over his shoulder
All on a negative
All in good time.
goodnight 4.13.00