(Photo credit Mystic mamma) |
June Choices
Songs fueled by sorrow will be waiting tomorrow,
and the day after that.
They are patient. They don't mind.
They weren't written to be sung
every day. Even they need a break,
Nothing hurts like nobody tryin'
Nothing hurts like nobody tryin'
The sixth month is for choice.
Maybe it's all I can stand
to choose auspicious corridors
a change of scene, lyrics fresh and clean.
In June I choose to sing along to a different tune.
In June I choose to sing along to a different tune.
Their choices chose me.
I understand that. Shockingly,
I welcome it. Today, (It's fair to ask me in a week) and all the way through to thirty.
Victims and martyrs stir in the hollow bottoms of gin and tonics, lined up in a row,
and in the chopped and graying hair swept off the barber shop floor.
Those songs count.
Those songs matter.
They make men and women gather, and rally, and weep.
For June, my choices I must keep.
and in the chopped and graying hair swept off the barber shop floor.
Those songs count.
Those songs matter.
They make men and women gather, and rally, and weep.
For June, my choices I must keep.
Compassion. I choose you.
You alone can cure a broken heart,
and there is nothing more promising than not
aiming to break
aiming to break
an already broken
one (even his).
Maybe we do hurt the ones we love the most, a common melody.
Running south down the interstate, afraid to turn around, knowing it will ease our load -- but June bellows, go!
June says yes.
Maybe we do hurt the ones we love the most, a common melody.
Running south down the interstate, afraid to turn around, knowing it will ease our load -- but June bellows, go!
June says yes.
Nothing hurts like nobody tryin'
Nothing hurts like nobody tryin'
The sixth month is for choice.
Maybe it's all I can stand
to choose auspicious corridors
And Kyanite bands.
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