By eaa1118

Your songs begin to stammer

          Your tears begin to pour

And I can’t even cry

          To trick a cheek of moment

Or court a pleading movement

          To nurse a shaft of heaven

There’s all of you to turn to

          There’s all of me to blame

Stamping hoofed refusals

          On fields of wished commotion

I ride this old confusion

          The harpooned will of streetcars

And hunt the hassocked madness

          Of songs we can’t discover

Now even if we love

          And care not to remember