So all its about is this guy, this guy who just wants to walk
Walk on a beach. You know: he's just a regular guy, a guy
Who goes to work, who has his wife, and they have kids
And you know, it isn't such a bad life, but then all of a sudden
Once you told me that you wanted to see
Me grow old: my temples grey; my ruddy
Visage wrinkled with wise distinction
You used words like that, then. I remember.
I wonder when I look for you on the wires
If those words ever come back to you
While changing the diaper of your daughter
Who would have been ours, if the words
Had been right.
A young friend now tells me that words
Spoken or written shape his existence
You know that I know that you know that we
Know nothing is less real than the words we
Cast into the boiling pot of our lives
An incantation of being simply cannot exist
Still, I sit and scribble the words, casting back
To a time when you loved me and I loved you
And words really did make our love real and
Solid like the slick concrete I once cracked
My head against, having fallen while catching
You before you fell.
The wheeler-dealer on the bus has a wireless headset
"I am in the back of the bus by the fan, so it is noisy,"
He shouts into it. The cockney gym rat stares him down.
The wheeler-dealer is not phased and continues to wheel,
"I'll call you back, but I just wanted to touch base and
Make sure we are on for Friday. I mean it is time to
Two more stops and three more calls and he bounds
Off the bus to his dollar store destination. Everyone
Knows but he, that he is talking to no one and nothing