How hideously quiet, the house waits.
Our lives, here, churning beneath the empty moments....
It gapes at the sound of our breathing
and the incandescent lamps bring our still photos to life
Again, our love is bending to form.
She calls 'derelict' at me
for the acid I take and I resent her pushing at my fun.
She points at me as the deviant drug doer
on my way to the imminent fall.
And I feel like a confused young professional
in need of a little direction.
I'm sound...I just don't care much.
There's too many deep currents
running in me at cross purposes.
Too many dreams and realities.
Too many blessings and blemishes.
I'm a bigger baby than ever at thirty
about to fall out of the crib again.
gallagher
3 July 1977 - lsd
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —