hometown

blessed is our hindsight
glory is the methadone
your chronic self medicating
your spit on my sleeve begging
the youth to come sore eyed
from hiding like Plato from his
basement one bedroom

the sidewalks are lit up at night
they're freckled with enemies
Your mother is drying her hair
as the lawn grows over and the roses
mourn the season's end
A life small and intricate as a poet's
who could only give whispers
when standing in the rain

i close my eyes and see empty
cigarette cartons piling up
on the balcony
To get to this stage i've lost
a friend every year and a father eight times
now but i see a thin film
somewhere between my mind and eyes
the colour of daybreak at the end of moss ave.

you don't get to retreat into me
the west coast folds in like the edges of a wet leaf
this shoreline is a thread i've been
pulling at for too long
and now the afternoon is shirtless
and nauseous with thirst