Rows of trees have grown
where I once only saw square houses
lined up among dusty roads.
The snow doesn’t fall so lightly
with the rain scratching the mud
and the spring leaves struggling
I’m watching the birds pickup sticks
and build new summer homes.
they build after the harsh winter season,
and I wish it were that simple to go home.
I’ve driven 11 thousand miles,
in two hundred and ten-ish days,
and all I’ve learned is the homesickness sets in
as soon as the radio presets
fill with static.
They say I have this thing,
some sort of way with words.
But is another grand of miles the cost of a lonely word filled heart?
Forgive me father,
for I have skinned
I tripped while leaving a reading tonight, and now I sit
in blood soaked torn up dirty jeans.
I may not understand your religion,
but I’ve heard you have
an honest way
So I ask you be the first.
Teach me how to fail
please, just criticize my work.