I can't help but think about it.
Josh Holycross
Somewhere in the desert is a puddle of water
Shriveled by the sun before anyone notices
And I can't help but think about it.
I'm in the garage smoking a cigarette with the door up
I nod in acknowledgement to the white beard across the street in his garage smoking cigarettes.
I take note that it's important to acknowledge fellow smokers
For you never know when they'll be gone.
I'm thinking about green hills
So lush life pours off of it,
Is palpable, each breath thick.
There's a pile of cigarette butts at my bare feet
I can feel dirt from my tires when I curl my toes.
I can't stop curling my toes.
Somewhere in the mountains people hunt for a bigot they've dedicated their lives to proving
exists
I saw it on TV.
I can't help but think about it.
There's a small click each time a bug hits the light over my head
And somewhere in space is a piece of metal taking my picture
I smile thinking about it.
There's a bee dancing a bee dance for his fellow bees
I smile thinking about him too.
Somewhere where it's still light a boy learns to ride his bike
Bruised by knowledge, a baseball card sputtering while he walks beside
And I can't help but think about it.
Up North is a moose at a lake or a bear at a stream catching dinner
I shared my dinner with the neighborhood cat
Tuna and noodles
And I can't help but think about him
Amongst the wet leaves and wet ground
Being dripped on by wet branches
And I can't help but think how he's always dry.
I can't help but think I'm being duped.
The white beard is looking through a smoke cloud
And appears more white.
Light gleams from his glasses so I know he's watching me.
I can't help but think about his sister Hazel and her ill health
How he just showed up one day last year smoking cigarettes in her garage
Acknowledging me with exhales and rarely leaving.
This can't be what he imagined for his life And I can't help but think about it. Somewhere my son sleeps in his bed without hearing my voice or being scratched by my kisses
But I know he feels me whether he knows it or not
For I feel my father without knowing him
And my son knows me, loves me, calls me "Da"
A title I've worn for two years now.
Two years a heartbeat stronger
And now I can't help but think about it.
Josh Holycross
Somewhere in the desert is a puddle of water
Shriveled by the sun before anyone notices
And I can't help but think about it.
I'm in the garage smoking a cigarette with the door up
I nod in acknowledgement to the white beard across the street in his garage smoking cigarettes.
I take note that it's important to acknowledge fellow smokers
For you never know when they'll be gone.
I'm thinking about green hills
So lush life pours off of it,
Is palpable, each breath thick.
There's a pile of cigarette butts at my bare feet
I can feel dirt from my tires when I curl my toes.
I can't stop curling my toes.
Somewhere in the mountains people hunt for a bigot they've dedicated their lives to proving
exists
I saw it on TV.
I can't help but think about it.
There's a small click each time a bug hits the light over my head
And somewhere in space is a piece of metal taking my picture
I smile thinking about it.
There's a bee dancing a bee dance for his fellow bees
I smile thinking about him too.
Somewhere where it's still light a boy learns to ride his bike
Bruised by knowledge, a baseball card sputtering while he walks beside
And I can't help but think about it.
Up North is a moose at a lake or a bear at a stream catching dinner
I shared my dinner with the neighborhood cat
Tuna and noodles
And I can't help but think about him
Amongst the wet leaves and wet ground
Being dripped on by wet branches
And I can't help but think how he's always dry.
I can't help but think I'm being duped.
The white beard is looking through a smoke cloud
And appears more white.
Light gleams from his glasses so I know he's watching me.
I can't help but think about his sister Hazel and her ill health
How he just showed up one day last year smoking cigarettes in her garage
Acknowledging me with exhales and rarely leaving.
This can't be what he imagined for his life And I can't help but think about it. Somewhere my son sleeps in his bed without hearing my voice or being scratched by my kisses
But I know he feels me whether he knows it or not
For I feel my father without knowing him
And my son knows me, loves me, calls me "Da"
A title I've worn for two years now.
Two years a heartbeat stronger
And now I can't help but think about it.
