Ledge songs

…some days everything is grating… some days everything is sacred… some days the dance between them is unbearable…

I’m on a roof ledge

in the dark part of my world…

swaying

at the sound 

they call my life.

I’m really starting to hate this

Radio Background

turnaround sound –

a picture of smallness,

drawing my life on these walls all around

and

hammering nails in the streets of my ears.

I hate its little stab-speak tone –

the tone

that isn’t really there;

the

glib,

homogenised, 

soundbyte beat…

an artificial inheritance for the soul.

I hate that the music won’t hug me up here…

wobbling high

and feeling low.

I hate its meanness –

hate its harshness –

hate this

dreary 

empty place 

it leaves inside my heart, 

bleeding ledges every step…

shaven

from the rooftops 

of the world I might have been.

I’m more than the small place you paint in the air:

I’m the horizon your waves haven’t seen.

This is the music of nothingness.

This is the sound the world makes 

when the soul of everything else has been ripped out.

There are no people –

no,

there are no people;

no

there are no people living here.

I hate that this music won’t hug out the fear…

holding those things

that the world can’t know.

Welcome to the sound at the end of the sky, 

bouncing our hopes

on stale empty air

and frequency modulated for despair.