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Everything happens “now”.
The Attention Span is “small”.
This Small ….

(as if you know what you want …)
You grew up around the block
on some different corner
but you didn’t really grow up
and all your friends
who were not really your friends anyway
all left for college or took a different train
and now it looks like rain
or it doesn’t quite feel the same
and you’re stuck with one curious umbrella
but you’re self-conscious, and get soaked instead.
and through foggy glasses, everything looks like home
but you feel so very alone
(is that friendship up ahead, or just a different colored bed?)
and you know they want your money
but it’s looking kind-of funny
like you’ve been playing “monopoly” too long
and sold Park Place for a song
and you still don’t know the Real Estate
where you belong
because all Life’s Love
is hidden in a simple song
(and that song is inside of you)
but the broken cookies and colored balloons
spoke too soon

and so, your attention span is small.
“This small”.
(as if you know what you want …)
This Want.
This Voice.
This Train that goes nowhere …
Except Home.

Everything happens “now”.