Wild Sage

Mountain Goats

 I leave the house as soon as it gets light outside    
like a prisoner breaking out of jail.
and I steal down to business 15-501     
like I had a bounty hunter on my tail.
and somebody stops to pick me up,
but he drops me off just down the block.
G e C G
and along the highway where the empty sprits breathed,
wild sage growing in the weeds.

walked down the soft shoulder and I count my steps.
heading vaguely eastward, sun in my eyes.
and I lose my footing and I skin my hands, breaking my fall.
and I laugh to myself and look up at the skies
and then I think I hear angels in my ears
like marbles being thrown against a mirror.
and along the highway, where unlucky stray dogs bleed,
wild sage growing in the weeds.

   and some days I don't miss my family.    
and some days I do.     
G e C
and some days I think I'd feel better if I tried harder.
most days I know it's not true.

I lay down right where I fell, cold grass in my face.
and I hear the traffic like the rhythm of the tides.
and I stare at the scrape on the heel of my hand,
'til it doesn't sting so much,
and until the blood's dried.
and when somebody asks if I'm ok, I don't know what to say.
and along the highway, from cast-off, innumerable seeds,
wild sage growing in the weeds.

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