so big trash collection began today in my ‘hood and a teeny-tiny part of my weekend was spent cleaning out my garage, hauling crap to the curb. love doing it. so metaphorical. as jackson says, “you go and pack your sorrow, the trash man comes tomorrow, leave it at the curb, and we’ll just roll away…” oh jackson browne. anyway, i came across my old justin roper boot box that is filled with poetry and such that i began writing when i was 11 or 12 or so. always fascinating to see such ruminations of me, then. (and my handwriting was so much better, too. jeez.) it inspired me to pick up my gibson and write a little. just now. and here ya have it. in the key of G with C and D along for a little fun:
why’d you go and disappear again?
why’d you go and disappear on me?
everyone i know these days is running,
looking for something they already see
so why don’t you go and write me that letter?
lay it all out so i will finally know
that leavings just another part of your story
and that really you left long long ago-
everyone i know these days is running
looking for something they can already see-
everyone i know these days is running
everyone i know but me
standing in the center of nothing-
and i’m gonna run myself, eventually
everyone i know these days is running…
©littlebrownbutterfly
I love this! And I miss you my nomadic spirit.
wanna hear this on that most beautiful Gibson.