poet again

it’s been a long time
i’ve forgotten how we fit
the contours of your shape
the way we flow
in and out
and the pieces of nostalgia
that fall into place
as the soft surface
meets the hard pen.

i say we crash it all.
drive off the road into the ditch
and feel the crunch of metals and plastics
meeting branches and rocks and weeds
if we survive, i say we run for the hills
and find a new place to hide
free from the paranoia that
people inspire.

we’ll keep the lights off, for a while
stare into the shadows and watch the
air move the dust
the time will rust as the pages decay
and the words will mean little
as the ink fades
and the context is lost to all
but the learned.

the story will live on outside
the reaches of memory
the trees will grow taller, and thicker
and the waters deeper
and the sky darker
and the wind sweeter
and the stars brighter
and i stronger
and then my simple song
will be myth.