{"id":886,"date":"2009-08-20T23:21:08","date_gmt":"2009-08-21T04:21:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.stephenpickering.com\/?p=886"},"modified":"2009-08-26T14:26:13","modified_gmt":"2009-08-26T19:26:13","slug":"886","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/stephenpickering.com\/wordpress\/2009\/08\/20\/886\/","title":{"rendered":"Back at the Lake House"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><a title=\"IMG_0066-B by stephenkp67, on Flickr\" href=\"http:\/\/www.flickr.com\/photos\/stephenpickering\/3841931956\/\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http:\/\/farm3.static.flickr.com\/2519\/3841931956_cd68dbfcf3.jpg\" alt=\"IMG_0066-B\" width=\"500\" height=\"134\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>Each relationship different, bare<br \/>\nThe lakehouse is empty, but our soul&#8217;s still there.<br \/>\nUnder the water, near the island of trees<br \/>\nthe shallows have grown years of mossy memories.<\/p>\n<p>We swim the narrows into the mauve and purple light;<br \/>\nThe boat dock&#8217;s restless, and the dog&#8217;s are howling for the night.<br \/>\nWe don&#8217;t think about people anymore but fish.<br \/>\nOur slick rubber noses run us through the cool eddies motionless.<\/p>\n<p>They really <em>are<\/em> on Cape Cod<br \/>\nScotch plaid shorts, knit polo, feeling like gods.<br \/>\nThinking of what people really like to do<br \/>\nA beautiful woman, bright red shoes<br \/>\n(<em>Come see through me, sing the blues!<\/em>)<br \/>\nI wish I could go back to my time<br \/>\nAnd lose my ever friggin&#8217; mind.<br \/>\nThe whisper handed slew<br \/>\nThe bobble banded boo<br \/>\nThe only thing I worry about this late<br \/>\nIs avoiding the sticky eyed gate<br \/>\nI can beat this with a smile<br \/>\nI can wait up for you for a while<br \/>\nWe&#8217;ll tease the clouds to crack a blush<br \/>\nAnd escape the mind numbing feeling of the morning rush.<br \/>\nI dance like a cloud<br \/>\nI choose to be free and wild<br \/>\nI&#8217;ll perch in the sycamore tree<br \/>\nJump and then be free<br \/>\nI choose not to be better<br \/>\nAs in choosing to write a letter<br \/>\nThere are boring people know more than me<br \/>\nWho&#8217;ve dug up a hole underneath their dreams<br \/>\nA new path is ground<br \/>\nSssh, don&#8217;t be too loud!<br \/>\nLet&#8217;s dance the boogie dance<br \/>\nGet all cute and caught up in romance.<br \/>\nBig blocks of iron are thundering down<br \/>\nExcept these don&#8217;t make a sound.<br \/>\nWe&#8217;re the ones who have the need<br \/>\nTo take the bastards out and punish them with greed.<br \/>\nHave you noticed it&#8217;s not the being<br \/>\nBut the leaving?<br \/>\nBallyhoos streak the sky<br \/>\nDesperately knowing just where we lye.<br \/>\nLet&#8217;s capture the blue eyed goat at his door<br \/>\nI don&#8217;t feel like being here anymore.<br \/>\nThe cigarette ashes poke through the hornets&#8217; nest late<br \/>\nThey&#8217;ve determined to go it alone leaving it up to fate<br \/>\nTheses are the lovelies, the ties that bind<br \/>\nWe&#8217;ll be allright another year, another century, with them by our side.<br \/>\nSpaghetti for breakfast; get ready for tea!<br \/>\nWe drift through the eons in bliss with our lovely coterie.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Each relationship different, bare The lakehouse is empty, but our soul&#8217;s still there. Under the water, near the island of trees the shallows have grown years of mossy memories. 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