Prodigal Son

I set off on a great journey

Bought some business

I thought was turnkey 

Only packed "What Momma Told Me"

—Then lost my luggage along the way...

Lied to so many people sayin' I'd come back someday.

Picked up some new wares

In a city, that auctions off the pretty

And when the hammer fell

In her Bible, she bookmarked the tale 

...And I remembered— to never forget 

The cracks in the driveway and the crumbling steps 

Of my old address...

She calls me a Gypsy

I call it "Synecdoche"

Me and Seymour 

Set out to see more

And collect souvenirs from the horror 

Postcards stained with tears

I's dotted— t's crossed and unsigned fears— 

Didn't want her to know...

So I blamed the stain on-the-motto-of-mailman's bravado 

Of, "—through rain, sleet, and snow."

Journals with legends, written by hand

The Map of a Mad Man

Pawned it all, but my buddy pass

On a CYOA—I did the math

—But forgot to calculate the tax... On the heaviness of my bags

"Aren't the airlines a mutha f*cker?"

—We all took the peanuts for granted...

I hope the calf is fatted. 

And that she'll still grease my scalp

Even though the strands are matted— and everything is so tender...

What time reveals to the Veal

Who's feasted on the promises of milk and honey

That even the flies get sucked-in— stuck-in the sweet sticky-runny.

...And when they tried to take me to the slaughter 

I heard the familiar creek of her knees as she fell at the altar—

From 3000 miles away...

And I began to pray for a "Someday" 

Oh, Sweet Sunday...

All it takes to repent of a lie is to try...

And I've been trying to get back to you, 

but I'll never forgive myself— If I don't make it true

P.S.

Luke