Warehouse

from Perfect Sleeping Weather by Larry Fulford

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Scrawled into notebooks from the familiar comforts of temporary homes and the passenger seats of mechanically unsound vehicles adrift on the highways and back roads of America, Perfect Sleeping Weather is fifteen years of thoughts, observations, facts, and fictions hammered into a collection of poetry that, according to one reader, "sounds like a sigh."

In this, his first book, writer/drummer/comedian Larry Fulford reflects on the usual -- life, death, love and leaving -- while still managing to name-check Van Halen. Twice.

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lyrics

The warehouse was dark
and all their disco suits were pressed
so as not to collect sweat.

For every hair I lost worrying about tomorrow,
a new child was born.

They shouted to hear their voices
bounce off the brick walls
and startle the trapped birds.
With shoulders against the doors
and backpacks thrown over those shoulders
and panic in those backpacks,
they held fast.

Some were too fat for words
some could run around in the shower and not get wet
but they held fast,
kicking at the fallen to remind them to help
taking turns taking smoke breaks.

Their chests were heaving in and out
so they must’ve been breathing in and out,
singing to the wood,
singing from their souls
around panting
and tasting sweat
that tasted like fear,
like motivation,
like everything worth saving.

Sleep on your sorrows, brothers and sisters,
the best is yet to come.
Rest is yet to come when you can calm down
and call your mom
just to ask if she’s had a good day.

The warehouse is dark but I can hear them
and the trapped birds’ wings
beating against their chubby bodies.

It’s an arrangement difficult to dance to
but easy to appreciate,
sort of like these words
which have a bad habit of undermining
every endeavor
but they look okay on paper.