Nowhere Else Feels More Like Home

I find my soul lifted high in the air between the cracking roads of Jasper and steeples secluded in Madison. I'm reminded of a funeral as thudding rhythms stomp at my anxious temples. The honey lights of noon broke through the streets and passed in between the silver crowned homes. Dylan and Baez play to the whispering rays of sun coursing down on my crawling character. I could stare forever into the darkness, drowned in amber; listening to Miles Davis play to the tune of dreaming. In overgrowth, limping away from the water, I'm rotting like a dead animal on the shoulders of a country highway. The ivy climbed over the hills and became somehow a shelter to hide in. Somewhere to live. Secluded. Somewhere to live. Secluded in restlessness.

I find my soul lifted high in the air between the cracking roads of Jasper and steeples secluded in Madison. I'm reminded of a funeral as thudding rhythms stomp at my anxious temples. The honey lights of noon broke through the streets and passed in between the silver crowned homes. Dylan and Baez play to the whispering rays of sun coursing down on my crawling character. I could stare forever into the darkness, drowned in amber; listening to Miles Davis play to the tune of dreaming. In overgrowth, limping away from the water, I'm rotting like a dead animal on the shoulders of a country highway. The ivy climbed over the hills and became somehow a shelter to hide in. Somewhere to live. Secluded. Somewhere to live. Secluded in restlessness.

There was always room beside me; Each foul glance between streaming lights passing through the plastic blinds. I dreamt of rose bushes tapping on the window seal. There was an aching spiral of trees growing out and away. Out and away. Coming to terms with a life once lived; sat as a decomposing remains. My eyes started to tunnel and my heart beats quicker. I walked for hours through the encampment. I saw a younger me, prancing carelessly beneath a pink sky. I grew up to witness you crawl into a separate skin. We were but a tunnel of light. A tunnel that grew darker with every pulse of life. We were but a surrounding of pine that circled their sanctuary.

I am a weeping man of what could be. Holding onto what strands of happiness I find in a dimming haven of childhood memories. I sink into a glowing mood of rot. Crawling into sunlight peering through windows. The neighborhoods I see in dreams convene at a depth. I see a yard singing to us in the Summer. And fading into cozy shades of red. It feels like I'm chained to a stake behind the house like a dog who was never loved. Never loved. I see Sandy Denny lofting her aching body into the concrete pillow. And now I'm stomping up the stairs from the basement I grew up in, wondering what she felt when the door finally close and the lights burned into pale white.