Feb 2

I'm living in a moving image 

of the Old Northwest, it's
A Still Life painting.
She sold a stolen car, jumping
Town and landing down.
Love fading under a gaze. True
Love lies, like burned varnish
scratches obscuring a visual memory.
Our history beneath the mourning fog:
of relationships lost

that live on in us too long.

I'm living in a moving image
from morning to death,
in a silent film
of the Old Northwest.
His car got repossessed, jumped
Demons in terra cotta and wax.  

In some insane way
can't help but think,
inside your head
I'll come again.

I'm living in a moving image.

Hey,  that walk you take 

to that fucked up place
beside the freeway

inside your head,
Its a still life
painting.

I failed you I hurt. 

I see the New Moon, 

I capture the Sun, and then I
shine.
I've seen you, with the Sun, 

I've tasted the Moon, and then I
rise. The road to ride.
When I was lonely.

As the grey of winter returns
And the new Northwestern sky
Covers summer blues in violet haze,
As temperatures drop and pressure
Gives way, winter preparations
Begin among the wildflowers and trees.
I couldn't forget about you for an hour,
And now I make it through days,
Soon still comes the constant
Eradication of memory.
Ripe fruits and their flies, stale bread
And napkins crumpled, an
Empty glass of water. Charcoal
Silhouettes on spent paper,
Loved fading under a glaze.