The Blue Cup
I get these thoughts in angles
When he’s driving
The blue plastic cup rattled on the dash
Everything is solid now and hard
And even the radio has a spine
His life is what we’re driving around
secrecy
And I remember his face
The last time I saw where we’re driving to
He has learned to sleep beside what doesn’t love him,
Curled up in a ball, forcing out sex and youth
Around an hour now gone and this is life
With all the dulls, build up, to an enduring height
We’re traveling through faces
And time, right now, as we speak
Involving with traces of then
Closing to the arrangement of now
He could've be a father or my father
And I would've respected him
Maybe, just because he thinks it’s important
And he was famous one day or one life
Lost in that direction of fame
Winter, noon, the southern sides of states of mind
And houses looking at us in all their shades of mood
And windows handling the sun like the surface of water
We know where we’re going
Someplace that will keep us without questions
Somewhere that will forgive us for moments we let pass
A blind spot with a roof overhead
A sympathetic destination
An afterlife, where we live
