Going Postal

I sent you something through the mail today, and I swear it’s not a letter bomb. It’s marked fragile but they’re all marked that way - it was broken before I sent it on. You always found it hard to read my scrawl, but you found it harder still to read my mind. So good luck deciphering any of this at all. Love yours truly, the undersigned

I don’t know how to start this letter. I’m writing you from the beach where I’m living. I got a disco outside of my window. I love all these kids, but the good times are killing me. I got a picture of you on the dashboard. So I can feel like you’re watching right over me. I hope someday you’re gonna move to the city. ’Cause the lights in this town, they don’t brighten up anything. And they say such foolish things, like love, love, love, love is all you need... Among other foolish things

Can you divide the meaning by the number of your words? The money in your pocket by the masters that you serve? It’s not the destination, it’s what’s around the curve

So now I’m going back again I got to get to her somehow. All the people we used to know, they’re an illusion to me now. Some are mathematicians. Some are carpenter’s wives. Don’t know how it all got started. I don’t know what they do with their lives. But me, I’m still on the road, a-heading for another joint. We always did feel the same, we just saw it from a different point of view. Tangled up in blue

Our youth is fleeting, old age is just around the bend, and I can’t wait to go grey. I’ll sit and wonder of every love that could have been, if I’d only thought of something charming to say.

I want so badly to believe, that there is truth, that love is real. And I want life in every word to the extent that it’s absurd.