32 For Tom Waits

This is an invitation to the blues.

I hope I don’t fall in love with you.
But now we’re in between love
And drunk on the moon,
I’m wondering how’s it gonna end?
Because you may be as dead and lovely
As a chocolate Jesus,
But I’m paying for repeating the sins of my father,
Feeling like a house where nobody lives
Under blue skies
When all the world is green.
I just want to tango til they’re sore
In a pair of old shoes
On the wrong side of the road with the rain dogs,
Where time means nothing to us
Because we dance to the music of swordfish trombones
Because the piano has been drinking.
And I never talk to strangers,
But You’re a sight for sore eyes
Whistling past a graveyard like a downtown train,
And I’ll go anywhere as far as Chicago
So don’t walk away.
It may be closing time
But I’m still here, a jockey full of bourbon, with a blind love.
So step right up jersey girl
And lets be each others blue valentines.
After all,

We’re all mad here.

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Lavender Grows Outside Her Door

Though when she called it such it was rosemary,
Outside her home lavender grows,
Strong and sweet,
Mellow enough not to sink in the air
But rise, rise like smoke unfiltered.
The walls have changed since she was last here.
They are more pale yellow in certain lights,
But then again maybe they always were
And she just didn’t notice over the many distractions of home.
But she no longer comes home.
And while home will always be waiting for her,
It does exist without her.
Life goes on in her absence, in whatever forms it can,

And it is a good life.

Summer leaves the nights warm and the windows open.
A piano key cat dances along the first floor window ledge,
I named him Miles for the trumpet player,
But he probably goes by many names now.
In the meantime I sit and write,
The smell of lavender resting in my open window,
And a busy mind pretending not to miss you.