December

In the back of an old school bus painted sunflowers on the side
it is never and always raining inside and out of here
and if happiness is the last truth, let this be a long night ahead
keep us awake, keep us warm, keep us together

if I never told you how I felt about leaving Los Angeles, here it is
a cold-hearted, able-bodied reminder of my past
I gave it a necessary burial, finally, seven years after leaving
and I have no plans to ever go back

And you, swimming in oceans warmer and clearer than the ones I had known
singing songs about the world as it could be while I was stuck in what Is
to free ourselves is a bloody knife and we are all killers
vultures circle miles above us, if you want to think of it that way

I never remember the plans I made in years passed, the little things
like making marshmallows and cleaning out the neglected garden spaces
I never could care about just one thing at a time--
ashes of old notebooks sit in urns along my mantle