Hey Starshine

I was going to write you a letter.

I voted you most likely to set something on fire
and throw it out a window.

I try not to worry about things I used to.
Try not to worry about the me of years gone by looking at the me of now
and saying, "Shit man, I could have done that."
Maybe he'd have even been better at it. I don't know.
Seems like he had all the time in the world,
but I don't think he did me any favors...

On the walk home I fixed a guy's camera,
I gave a Spanish lady directions
told someone their new clothes looked great,
Said thank you in a language I don't even speak.
I did nothing for me.
I took a train to the edge of my own city,
so I could walk around someplace that wasn't home,
I sent some postcards.
The people liked me better there.
Isn't that fucked up?

I watched the lunar eclipse, thought about all those sunsets and sunrises all at once, a ring of fire around the globe. I thought about the birth, the death, the rage, the nights and morning afters, the war and the peace, the horror and beauty all at once.
Thought about how it's always there.
Has always been there... How we'd find scraps of it under the sand
in four thousand year old trash heaps.

Felt like I was floating in space and time.
Which, I guess we all are.

Phonebook

Your every scar is beauty to me,
Every fear a hand to hold.

I say to you that if the world is a cold rain -
You are a house in the distance
with a warm light, a hot shower, and a soft bed.