There is no title, there are no answers.

All the sentimentality dripped out of me
Like the trickle from a slowly bleeding
Cut, standing in the sun somewhere off Montford Avenue
Just a stone’s throw from the site
Of so many sleepless and haunted nights

All the kudzu and ivy and moss
Creeping across the cracked concrete sidewalks
And streets we once called home could never recycle
The accumulated pains poisons of lives hard lived
Or breathe new life back into the fabric of threadbare souls

If you could start over
If you could start over
Live it all over again
How far back would you go?
How many years would it take?
To dissolve the scar tissue from
Liver, lungs, heart, and soul?

Brown glass glinting in the waning light
Concrete drunk on the sun’s heat
It’s just mountain and sky and you and I
Standing in the shadows of the world
That left us far behind

They say you can’t put your arms around a memory
Or put your fist through one either
But memory might be the only affordable place to live these days

The lights went out in every house
We called home long ago
Those elegant eyesores scattered through town
Windows open with the fan on
Whirring into the endless sweltering nights
Inhaling exhaust and ozone and industry
The lockstep march of progress into infinity

Humble streets full of beginnings and endings
I know you were there, in the rain
A funeral march down Courtland Avenue
A mourning barge burning and a slow rolling train
What did we fight for?

What did we live for?