To First Loves, First Neighborhoods and For Tortured Souls:

Like you and me.

White noise slips from silence
singing me a lullaby,
something drowning,
something sweet,
something awkward and incomplete.
Like you and me.

Bare, burned feet,
sun-bleached blond,
a mushroom cloud of nylon.
Beatles, and Beachboys, blooded noses,         
while the Bishops best played God to roses.

White noise slips from silence,
singing me a lullaby,
something drowning,
something sweet,
something awkward and incomplete.
Like you and me.
Like you and me.
Like you and me.
So, so, so, so,
Incomplete.

Under father’s fallout,
digging trenches in the dirt,
tags and flags, skins and shirts.
Anti I over, but she never ran back.                 
With the nuclear manna, we filled our sacks.

 Home--where was it then,
do I still remember?
Was sheltered in,
pray there’s still an ember.
Weary to the bone,was I ever really home?

So long ago,
with nothing within to make it real.
Sent too soon, no body for my soul.
Forever was I always lost,
a ghost without death’s stare,
still needing my no-place somewhere.
So weary to the bone,
take me home.
Please take me home.

White tangles, ripped-up shirt,
rough outs, halter tops, and short skirts.
She was my crimson, I her clover,
lightning strikes over and over.
Whiffs of perfume, a giant blue spruce,
truth or dare, keeping it loose.
Lemons and locks, shining hair,
the big bang epicenter.

Across the universe,
she was chapter, page, paragraph, and verse.
White noise slips from silence,
singing me a lullaby,
something drowning,
something sweet,
something awkward,
a wrinkled crease.
Please take me home,
so I’m complete.
Just you,
just me.
Heart, hearth, and home.

Loren M. Lambert, © February 2, 2014