a wilder
edge
shine, shine, the moonlight down
leaving a trail of bones on the ground
ghost, ghost, who do you haunt?
whoever don't walk where the moonlight wants
run, run, with all yer speed
charcoal ash the night wind bleeds
and bleed, bleed, below my ledge
and see me through to the wilder edge
fire, dire, it's so damn dark
in the deepest vein of this soil's heart
and fire, fire, the cold cuts thin
a wound without, and worn within
damn, damn, damn this dark
and damn this flint, and damn this spark
and damn, damn, disappear
and damn your hide for dying here
cry, cry, and paint your doe
light above, and black below
she's young, young, and younger still
the road first and then the kill
and tap, tap, above your head
drippin' down the window red
and turn, turn, your key to the left
and drive yourself to the wilder edge
drip, drip, an icicle
a suicide when the gutter's full
and drip, drip, the last of the rain
where the last of the winter wisdom remains
damn, damn, damn your myth
and damn my fear, and damn your kiss
and damn, damn, disappear
and damn your hide for dying here
all the calendar days
the face that you're loving has the face of an angel
that's aging alone now that heaven's long gone
the moon's little tricksters have danced on the diamonds
and left them like splinters all over the lawn
that picture you carry is creased now with wrinkles
like the face that it frames, to be cherished no more
water brings rain to all of the islands
and the moon can't find anyone that i'm looking for
that book that you read, the one with your prayers
it's dog-eared and the glue on the binding is dry
when you walk down the lane you dangle behind you
a paper-trail blowing in the wind like a kite
medallions and trophies and gold bits of paper
balanced like bones on a shoulder that sags
rosary beads, like tinsel for christmas
forever tangled and buried in bags
the bed, once slept in, has gone green now like copper
left out in the rain, forgotten and wet
the sheets are too worn to cover the bed
and they can't hide that there's just one silhouette
the woods hold the whispers that tell all the stories
you no longer hear in the blue alley haze
gone is the kindness, the soft summer shyness
dissolved like all the calendar days
red cloud road
god lives on the radio here
side by side with blue-eyed soul
and mexican mandolins
oh, the desert towns i've been
with edges that just bleed off into flatness
and there's no walls against which to bounce your badness
turn the radio off, and you'll hear the violins
play the same four notes, over and over again
god lives on the radio here
side by side with rifle-eyed kids
and ten-gallon queens
oh, the desert towns i've seen
with seasons that can turn lust to sadness
and a train that can take your brain to madness
turn the radio off, and that's the end of sound
and the desert swallows up another desert town
the end of the desert is something like a god
you must have faith to believe that it's there
and on red cloud road, in the middle of the summer
you can smell a little rain in the air
Copyright © 2003 Christopher Watkins