sax, guns and loneliness

Your car was deep red and sporty
squat, open to air, fast, tight
hugging free and purposeful
gripping rubber wheel streets

Music loud pounding rhymes shouting
guns battles brothers pounding
drilling into soft forest covers
like you truly meant war in peace

your car made room for only two
your self and another lucky soul
sat closely together as you drove
away from the fools behind you

i never could be anyone imagined
nor imagined my self to be anyone
than two fools needing one another
quietly without sentences wringling
together yet perfectly understood

affixed to the jocks and traditionally
popular with some claims to nobility
and all the choices of status before you
chose that i receive these secret words

i who moved through all people easily
these jocks opening beer and rubs
or fidgeting scientists finding meaning
sound maker's booming silent dreams
and imaginers of things always never there

you stopped me cold and held me in place
in that small cozy seat just beside you
as strange as it was for you and i we sang
discovered sentences only we understood

such time spent with you i remember rarely
conversations with your grandfather always in
the TV room, that chair of his sitting alone
your surprise that night you came in hearing
gramps and i talking away, you pulling me away
amazed because he could not hear

your father who rarely entered in, bringing
weight and silence, heavy thoughts, experience
of things truer than what is known to all
his creations objects that rise killing millions
his skin peeled periodically treating
the spoils of science and war

mom, wild turkey, and brisket roasting smells
the basement hideway

nobody has ever told me more truly of love
than you in your morning songs of voice, paper
in how you would watch me react like it gave you
some reward beyond necessities

maybe that is why,
ripped guts on that airplane night
you left for the academies of war,
i gave you my saxophone hoping
its sound on your lips would keep you
bound to what mattered more

but each letter on military stationary
i watched you altered through torture
blood, duty, worthfulness through acceptance
rigid, engineered destruction construction
and such academics as church might give

maybe that is why,
when you disappeared i came
across the country to the hills
to you with gray stone buildings
solid ash, desolate as spring
safe as calculated death

now, i can't even remember if i saw you there

but you do remember i stayed there away
on that eastern coast so far from stars,
the ever green trees, cool moss, open winds
my little habitat suit, so thin in youth,
barely keeping breathing in
the frustrations of these so many people
purposefully hating anything

you do remember i stayed there away
because you left the gray stones to visit
a day away from the deadly play then returned
leaving me in this crowded desolate place
where no one could speak with trees

maybe that is why,
the next day i gathered music
in that old rusted car finding the way
to the long wide roads back west
that slow journey of roadside meetings
travellers along their ways and the many roads
that brought us all to be here one by one

you saw me abandon a friend back there
yet this is what became us:
i saved myself on a long, dark street
while you moved on along to tame us

years have passed in your covert ways
and mine in my stumblings for all
such a great purpose you are become
for these few strategic men
plotting freedom for all, the acceptable
losses of life, limbs, solid fear,

i've heard nothing from you but i know
if we spoke, we would cry,
this would end

mabye that is why,
still songs remind me
how uniquely you lived
now alone at the top
yet sacrificed all
to be counted

i know the words you tell yourself
i watched them form before you
my first lesson in helplessness
watching you live what you hated

but if some strange chance might fall from night
and lords wrestle down from the beauties
i've kept the seeds from before cold fell
open in the light of this morning

fresh as dew on metal, twisted, by flame
and brilliant wild flowers grown from heads

the dream of a billion men before
gone, in the end, unsaid