What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows
We saw the western coast.
I saw the hospital.
Nurse the shoreline like a wound.
Reports of lover's tryst.
Were neither clear nor descript.
We kept it safe and slow.
The quiet things that no one ever knows.
Keep the blood in your head and keep your feet on the ground.
Today's the day it gets tired.
Then today's the day we drop down.
Give up my body in bed.
All for an empty hotel.
Wasting words on lowercases and capitals.
I contemplate the day we wed.
Your friends are boring me to death.
Your veil is ruined in the rain.
By then you like to do without.
There's nothing new to talk about.
And though our kids are blessed,
the parents let them shoulder all the blame.
Keep the blood in your head and keep your feet on the ground.
Today's the day it gets tired.
Today's the day we drop down.
Give up my body in bed.
All for an empty hotel.
Wasting words on lowercases and capitals.
I lie for only you.
And I lie well.
Halleluh.
Keep the blood in your head and keep your feet on the ground.
Today's the day it gets tired.
Today's the day we drop down.
Give up my body in bed.
All for an empty hotel.
Wasting words on lowercases and capitals