In My Head

In My Head

Nobody wants your diagnosis.

Twice tired of your double talk (sing, sing, take a walk, that was me on the bus).

Your tone’s accusatory (like the joke in the return address of the letter that you sent that I did not find funny).

Hey, hey, what you doing in my dream

In the spaces between

Poetry in my head

What’s this? 

Were you lonely for a moment at the end of the night with the winter outside and the wild lights?

You remind me of someone I once knew (or someone that I meant to).

You’re a lion’s tail around the corner.

You’re a cardinal out the window.

Hey, hey, what you doing in my dream

In the spaces between

Poetry in my head

In my head

What’s this?

Are you making for the door with your eyes like a dancer,

with your knuckles cut up like a boxer?

It’s the sweep of the back of your neck.

It’s the color of your skin, the way you stop me sometimes 

when I begin to talk too much. (I talk too much, I know.

I talk too much. I talk too much, I know.)

 

(Life Underwater Music, 2000)

 

James O'Brien