Wood hands and gravel voice,
how I see myself,
but it ain’t the truth of them.
I got this vision,
Husky and me in chest deep snow,
me and candle-light and this house I built,
but it ain’t, it ain’t…
and I get these pictures in my email,
and they ain’t nothing compared to your poetry,
but they make my mind split,
and they make my wants ache,
and they make, they make me double take.
Drive ‘cross the Mississippi sixty times a month,
cold river air in the window,
fillin’ my lungs with somethin’ that’s been somethin’.
But it don’t mean I got nothin’.
And I got this vision.
Husky and me, and the wood of me,
that I’ve been carvin’ out of the myths I tell,
hoping, hopin’ hard as hard can stand,
that tellin’ ‘n hopin, they’ll be enough,
enough to make a Moses from me.
me, me ‘n that Husky…
But you got this way of throwin’ yourself,
into writin’, into philosophy, into, into…
can’t help but put you in that fantasy.
‘n it ain’t an unhappy ending.
But,
but,
but,
but, that don’t mean,
that don’t mean,
that don’t mean it means anything.
And I want to reach out and touch the water,
but if I’m touching the water from these bridges,
well, they’ve already failed.
but I want, I want.
That should tell you enough about me.
