So tired of typing.
Tired of screens.
The blue light.
I wonder if they are listening.
Not that it matters.
I’ve got nothing to hide
Everything comes out eventually
because that’s the only way we survive.
Keep the spirit moving.
From one life to the next.
Why do people text?
What happened to phone calls?
Long, engaging emails?
What happened to hand-written notes?
A letter sealed in an envelope,
Why do we move forward
when we know that all we ever needed
With her. Or him.
Hidden away in that secret place.
An apartment in California,
bright and small with that special chair
and the posters
and the big, reaching plant.
In the back of a little blue pickup truck
under the moonlight.
Bodies busy mixing up love and desire,
making a brave roadmap for life
that most of us are afraid to follow.
So, we become men
that struggle to be good husbands.
Women that fight against good sense
to be loyal wives.
Spirits working away at moments,
creating what we know
Even when we are tired.
of the blue lights,
and all of the hiding
that comes to hurt