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bellingham below, the stained glass window
you inhaled the smoke, instead of the storm
two feathers and two stones make for the rhythm
off beat again, i have never learned of control

we drove for days through the ice and the rain behind semi-lights
so i could explain why your emptiness compels me
i want to make you cry, to feel whole on the inside
your apathy is a lie.

remember me in a nutshell
i refuse to leave without a proper goodbye
stolen banjo strings & a suitcase of clothes
i feel more at home on the road
and i'm confused as to why

a hitchhiker's dream, synchronicity
a community of religious open arms
the naked skin, does it really win?
do you miss the connection, or should i speak in vain?
forget your own name, our languages are different
do i sound like gibberish coming home with lies to be fed?

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