Cocoon

this cocoon, caught in vesuvius' shadow

only the ashes remain

and i waited there for you

why couldn't you?

here we lie waiting for somethig to startle

to shake us from gravity's pull

and so the sleeping hours are through

what can we do?

the tainted election, the low dirty war, it happened before you came to

but this is solution, and this is amends

the joke always tends to come true

but there on your windowsill over the unmoving platoon

written in paperback, the key to the quarterback's room

under waning moon

this quiet serves only to hide you

provide you

what i knew: it'd come back to you

take this palm, follow the lines here are written

and script out the rest of your life

and feel your fingers falling slack and all folding back

the sorry coclusion, the hole in the sky

command what is tried, what is true

but without solution, with feet on the ground

it won't make a sound 'til you're through

so loosen your shoulderblades

tis is your hour to make due

becayse there on the timberline

deep cold november shines through

soft and absolute