singing

singing



wake up honey, wake up,
there’s singing in the night,
don’t go back to sleep,
don’t turn on the light,

just listen to them close,
not from hell and not from heaven,
they come from god only knows,
but they’re here now and listen,

the blood-soaked boats sing,
the tunnels in the granite mountains sing,
the dinner dancing in the microwave sings,
from under the bottom of the ocean comes singing,

this voice is from a son who hates his mother’s poverty,
and this one ricochets off the iron trunks of skyscrapers,
and this one came from a cheerless cigarette break,
and this one came from sagging tit of a woman in sales,
and this one was a whimper from a grandfather whose heart turned into an ash tray,

the tidal wave of twenty-four-hour signs sing,
the missing money from a register sings,
the fog of school sings,
this is the thunder of voices dying to be american,

this is the voice of a man’s short-lived lies,
this is the anguish of a child who’s prayers weren’t answered by god,
and this one’s a doctor delivering one more baby one more time,
this is a little girl with frosting on her nose,

singing from the trains, from the corners, from what used to be real boardwalks,
singing for their lovers untrue,
singing for someone’s forgiveness,
singing for an extra dollar an hour,
singing for the years to go by quicker,

the songs are like wet cement churning in a barrel,
like the smell of a hundred-year old dock,
like a sliver aching in your palm,
like a rusted bucket with bullet holes,

like tiny rivers across the moon,
sailing through the starry sky,
like an angel's organ,
spreading her notes far and wide,

we should stay up the whole night,
too bad we have to sleep,
i’ll never shut my eyes again,
if they dry out, i’ll just have to weep.




Chumahan