Straw

i am a growing boy and i donate all my shoes

and make lists of things to do when i forget how huge the world is

outside of my little cotton-lined room

and the first thing on the list it says go read a book

and the second one says teach yourself the cello or some instrument

and third gain some perspective of intimate distance

maybe then it’ll make some sense

cause the world is all spinning around you now

so caffinate and quilt your skin

is this where we begin

to sort our problems out

the ones we make up living easy lives

then we realize

we’re growing up just fine

and i’m burning with the people who all know they know me best

but if i’m gonna fashion something better from this mess i guess

i’ll be no different from the rest

but i’ll be setting tables then cause you’re dressed as the chef

and the fork goes on the left and the knife goes on the right with the edge

slouching back against the spoon

and the others they’re gonna be here real soon

and the straw it sings and creaks like a choir now

and the sticks sniff out the weak and they shout

who can we do without

you choose who you love now

you’re far from grown but start pretending

you’ve got directions to make this man you’re building

i am a burning boy minus any smell of smoke

cause all of the straw men that i made are getting loans and moving in

to the open space in the back of my van

and they’re all backseat drivers worse then any family

and they’re laughing at my signaling and whispering these little things

like you learn to love us all in time my dear

but for now keep your hands on the wheel

and the scabs on his head they’re growing in number now

so shoo them off and pick away the doubt

but what could we do without

these little lovely doubts

they wear me down to smooth untethered boughs

so let them swing back and forth on me