Well, would you look at the time!
You're always halfway out the door
With a twisted neck, looking in
As if you missed something
On the storm you rode out.
It was a hurricane in a time frame
Once on the mantle by the present tree,
Now buried in the sandbox.
These hearts we have are landlocked,
We're always looking for what brand of
Light politics to which our talking ticks should adhere.
Hold the hands, flesh it out and listen,
The oceans will flood to you like the blood in your ears.