Orphans
I used to write my name
In letters ten feet tall,
Across the blank stare of these city walls,
I’d watch as the colour bled into the cracks,
And smile as it blinked back tears from its eye.
I used to hurl my curses
Into the sky,
Past the helicopter blades and machine gun fire,
I’d pull the turrets to their knees like crippled gods,
And drown their memory in gasoline.
So we would rather court as outlaws,
Than park as prisoners in no-man’s land,
And brand our chains with numbered names,
And the hymns our parents sang.
I used to make love
To the queen of this town,
In the hum of our headlights and that old FM sound,
We knotted our bodies at the feet of our friends,
And left chalk outlines for the police to find.
I used to count my days
From zero to one,
And preach the practice to anyone,
I’d hunt down the sun for his sins and his spoils,
And pick clean the bones of each hour I drew.
So we would rather haunt as orphans,
Than serve as sons at the city gates,
And nail our pledge to a chain-link fence,
That climbed for climbing’s sake.
I used to build my bridges
Across the night,
Miles from the ground and the cameras sight,
A path through the storm past our window panes,
A way to stay lost when everything’s found.
I used to hold dear
The people I’d meet,
From the steps of the church to the stoop of the street,
I’d gather them up in my hands like confetti,
And strew them as stars over each empty night.
So we would rather lurk as lovers,
Than surrender to sleep in the hands of the state,
Who counts our time as dots and lines,
And the promises we’ve yet to break.
