For five years now,
it’s been “I don’t know”
in staccato refrain.
well like G.R. Martin says,
“Winter is coming”
‘n I ain’t for facin’ the cold alone.
Five years,
I been sayin’ the “I don’t know”s,
and five years since I’ve had any ideas,
but the bridges are icing median first,
and the frost is gnawing
at the snowmelt green lawns,
and that Mississippi’s got that crackin’ dandruff along her shores.
Five years.
And I don’t much care for folks touchin’ me anymore,
and I don’t think I can survive without touch anymore.
and she smiles like some forbidden hymn,
and she chatters razor keen,
and she
and she
and she,
and she fills my thoughts, unbidden, but not undesired.
Five years,
and winter is coming,
but darling,
whatever the season,
there’s fair weather in your breast,
and that’s got more chasers than any cyclone.
