Days of Open Hand

Tired of Sleeping

Oh Mom, the dreams are not so bad
It's just that there's so much to do
And I'm tired of sleeping

Oh Mom, the old man is telling me something
His eyes are wide and his mouth is thin
And I just can't hear what he's saying

Oh Mom, I wonder when I'll be waking
It's just that there's so much to do
And I'm tired of sleeping

Oh Mom, the kids are playing in pennies
They're up to their knees in money
And the dirt of the churchyard steps

Oh Mom, that man he ripped out his lining
He tore out a piece of his body
To show us his "clean quilted heart"

Oh Mom, I wonder when I'll be waking
It's just that there's so much to do
And I'm tired of sleeping

Oh Mom, the bird on the string is hanging
Her bones are twisting and dancing
She's fighting for her small life

Oh Mom, I wonder when I'll be waking
It's just that there's so much to do
And I'm tired of sleeping

Oh Mom, I wonder when I'll be waking
It's just that there's so much to do
And I'm tired of sleeping

Men in a War

Men in a war
If they've lost a limb
Still feel that limb
As they did before

He lay on a cot
He was drenched in a sweat
He was mute and staring
But feeling the thing
He had not

I know how it is
When something is gone
A piece of your eyesight
Or maybe your vision

A corner of sense
Goes blank on the screen
A piece of the scan
Gets filled in by hand

You know that it was
And now it is not
So you just make do with
Whatever you've got

Men in a war
If they've lost a limb
Still feel that limb
As they did before

If your nerve is cut
If you're kept on the stretch
You don't feel your will
You can't find your gut

And she lay on her back
She made sure she was hid
She was mute and staring
Not feeling the thing
That she did

I know how it is
When something is gone
A piece of your eyesight
Or maybe your vision

Rusted Pipe

Now the time has come to speak
I was not able
And water through a rusted pipe
Could make the sense that I do

Gurgle, mutter
Hiss, stutter
Moan the words like water
Rush and foam and choke

Having waited
This long of a winter
I fear I only
Croak and sigh

Somewhere deep within
Hear the creak
That lets the tale begin

Now the time has come to move
I was not able
Water through a rusted pipe
Could make the moves that I do

Stagger, stumble
Trip, fumble
I fear I only
Slip and slide

Somewhere deep within
Hear the creak
That lets the tale begin

Somewhere deep within
Hear the creak
That lets the tale begin

Book of Dreams

In my book of dreams

I took your urgent whisper
Stole the arc of a white wing
Rode like foam on the river of pity
Turned its tide to strength
Healed the hole that ripped in living

In my book of dreams

The spine is bound to last a life
Tough enough to take the pounding
Pages made of days of open hand

In my book of dreams

Number every page in silver
Underline in magic marker
Take the name of every prisoner
Yours is there my word of honor

I took your urgent whisper
Stole the arc of a white wing
Rode like foam on the river of pity
Healed the hole that ripped in living

In my book of dreams

Institution Green

Institution green
The walls are cracked and dim
And we are standing in a line
Waiting for our faces to be seen

Institution green
Watch the floor and cound the hours
None will meet my eyes
Private people in this public place

I wonder if they'll take a look
Find my name inside that book
Lose me on the printed page
Where to point the aimless rage

I cast my vote upon this earth
Take my place for what it's worth
Hunger for a pair of eyes
To notice and to regognize

Institution green
A woman stands behind a table
She will call my name
After that I'll be admitted in

I wonder if she'll take a look
Find my name inside that book
Lose me on the printed page
Where to point the aimless rage

I cast my vote upon this earth
Take my place for what it's worth
Hunger for a pair of eyes
To notice and to regognize

Institution green
Teach me how to pull the lever
Push the curtain closed
Take what's needed then just
Let me go

Those Whole Girls (Run In Grace)

Those whole girls
Hurl down words
Run in packs
With bloom to spare

They know health
Know it well
Skim the cream
And fill the brim

Drip with news
Spin intact
Blaze and stun
And feel no lack

Breathe with ease
Need no mercy
Move in light
Run in grace

Run in grace

Room Off the Street

Somewhere in a room
With a poster on a wall
Of a man with his hand
In a fist

Is a woman who's drinking
And her dress is so tight
You can see every breath
That she takes

Every sigh, every sway
You can hear everything that they say
Something's begun like a war
Or a family or a friendship
Or a fast love affair

The man on the wall
Is his symbol of freedom
It means he has brothers
Who believe as he does

She is moved by
The thing that she sees in his face
Whe he talks of
The cause

Every sigh, every sway
You can hear everything that they say
Something's begun like a war
Or a family or a friendship
Or a fast love affair

She leans against him
Her dress is so red
They talk of the salt
And the truth and the bread

The night goes along
The fan goes around
In the room off the street
At the end of the town

Every sigh, every sway
You can hear everything that they say
Something's begun like a war
Or a family or a friendship
Or a fast love affair

Big Space

He said you stand in your own shoes
I said I'd rather stand in someone else's
He said you look from your direction
I said I like to keep perspective

Close to the middle of the network
It seems we're looking for a center
What if it turns out to be hollow?
We could be fixing what is broken

Between the pen and the paperwork
There must be passion in the language
Between the muscle and the brain work
There must be feeling in the pipeline

Beyond the duty and the discipline
I know there's anger in a cold place
All feelings fall into the big space
Swept up like garbage on the week-end

Between the pen and the paperwork
There must be passion in the language
Between the muscle and the brain work
There must be feeling in the pipeline

All feeling
Falls into the big space
All feeling
Swept into the
Avenues of angles

Between the pen and the paperwork
I'm sure there's passion in the language
Between the muscle and the brain work
I know there's feeling in the pipeline

Predictions

Let's tell the future
Let's see how it's been done.
By numbers. By mirrors. By water.
By dots made at random on paper.

By salt. By dice.
By meal. By mice.
By dough of cakes.
By sacrificial fire.

By fountains. By fishes.
Writing in ashes.
Birds. Herbs.
Smoke from the altar.

A suspended ring or the mode of laughing
Pebbles drawn from a heap
One of these things
Will tell you something.

Let's tell the future
Let's see how it's been done.
By dreams. By the features. By letters.
By dropping hot was into water.

By nails reflecting the rays of the sun.
By waling in a circle.
By red hot iron.
By passages in books.
A balanced hatchet.

A suspended ring or the mode of laughing
Pebbles drawn from a heap
One of these things
Will tell you something.

Let's tell the future
Let's see how it's been done.
How it's been done.

Fifty-Fifty Chance

50-50 chance
The doctor said
In the cardiac room
As she's lying in bed

There's a pan on the floor
Filled with something black
I need to know
I'm afraid to ask

I hug you
I hum to you
I've come to you
I touch you

I tell you
I love you
I sing to you
Bring to you
Anything

Her little heart
It beats so fast
Her body trembles
With the effort to last

I hug you
I hum to you
I've come to you
I touch you

I tell you
I love you
I sing to you
Bring to you
Anything

She's going home
Tomorrow at ten
The question is
Will she try it again?

Pilgrimage

This line is burning
Turning to ash as it hits the air
Every step is a day in the week
It's a Sunday or Monday
A march over months of the year

This life is burning
Turning to ash as it hits the air
Every death is an end in the race
It's a stopping and starting
A march over millions of years

Travel. Arrival
Years of an inch and a step
Toward a source
I'm coming to you
I'll be there in time

This land is burning
Turning to ash as it hits the air
Every line is a place on a map
It's a city or valley
A mark on these miles of fields

Travel. Arrival
Years of an inch and a step
Toward a source
I'm coming to you
I'll be there in time

This line is burning
Turning to ash as it hits the air
Every step is a day in the week
It's a Wednesday or Thursday
A march over months of the year

Travel. Arrival
Years of an inch and a step
Toward a source
I'm coming to you
I'll be there in time

I'm coming to you
I'll be there in time

Take this
Mute mouth
Broken tongue.
Now this
Dark life
Is shot through with light