It Was All Unpredictable

It Was All Unpredictable

(“For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands.” 2 Timothy 1:6)

Everybody needs some time because
there’s no one left to blame. Look around you,
all the suspects have been framed. All the runners
came up lame. And you and them and we will all
never be the same. We went. We came. And then I said:

I’m just the kind who won’t show up where I’m not wanted.

It was all accidental, and if it wasn’t, it was experimental.
My roost is too chilly to hatch half a plan. My time too empty
to recreate a masterpiece fully complete with classic characters
playing their music for a king. I steal words now from
songs I listen to. I haven’t written a melody in 54 weeks.

I’m just the kind that would love to sing around the campfire.

It was all unpredictable. Why do you say you thought it would
come to this? I can fill the page with printable ink only to waste it
by the end of the day. I used to have something to say; now I meander
from wall to wall while the memories swirl around the chimney when
the storms are delayed.

I’d walk in the rain if that would warm your thoughts toward me.

I swear I’ll write another song someday. But I have no one to
play them for.
I have no one to correct my cliches.
I swear I’ll sing another tune someday. But I have no one to
sing them with.
I have no one to co-write anything.

I’d sit the afternoon with you. Bring your guitar and your newest tune.

There is a steel wall between my wanting and my writing,
there is a dark gravity that keeps me from the sky.
There are memories of blue, dreams unpursued
that leave me jealous of the crows that yell at the
dogs in the yard. Everything is on standby till I
take pen in hand.

I’d write on the porch today if only I could read it aloud for you.