from by Matthew Houston

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A nest will never last.
Some final task will find no rest.
All is poised on an end.
Can't mend - all is poisoned.
Can't talk without real trust.
Really just can't talk.

And I feel stupid for feeling bad.
I feel bad when I have fun.
I set my face with mortar, order myself to stay in place.

A room made of twigs and fuzz - does it ever feel stable?
Not like old discarded rubble
Whose walls leak air, and cold, and bugs?

Robins seem content,
Living lives of little leaps,
Huddled warmly on little heaps.

Something crumbles in my face,
I crack a smile,
Put it away.


from Seven Songs, released February 6, 2016



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Rough Draft Records Maine

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