Lonely in a Styrofoam Cup - Kyle Kulseth

We never got to make it home.
And we're not certain if we care.
We may never make it home
Shaking hands can't take us there.
We never got to make it home
At least not yet.

Well these minutes feel like hours.
And today felt like a year.
For 15 minutes, "here" is our home.
And then off to God knows where.
I swear that time became a place just now
And duration's my home town.
Now haggard hearts are hammering
The wailing walls of sternums down.

We never got to make it home.
And we're not certain if we care.
We may never make it home
Clapping hands can't take us there.
At least not yet.

Rodney's bound for D.C.
Nation's capital near the coast.
I remind him it ain't no state of mind
But a "district of..." at most
Weary wanderers challenge daybreak
As they wend their long way east.
Because they know

They just might make it home.
They just might get back home.
But not quite yet.

In times of isolation
Smarter men might formulate
The minutes of their 5-year plans
Or otherwise cogitate.
Not like me
I'd rather catch some U.V.
In the face at 6:16 am

Now people can make handclaps
Pulsate over broken beats.
And duration soothes like powder
Itchy pairs of wayward feet.

I wonder if I'll make it home.
I'm not certain that I care.
I don't want to make it home.
Scribbling hands don't take me there.
God forbid that I should make it home
At least not yet.