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Chris Pureka
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California
Sun comes through the shade,
lands on the ceiling,
it ends down the wall,
where you're sleeping.
And I'm trying to memorize
your every morning movements,
the roll and rise of you.
But it's too late to run,
when you're caught in the snare,
and I'm tangled in the barbed wire,
all around your bed.
Now, honey, I'll never learn,
it takes me so long,
when I finally fall, you know,
they're always gone.
Early morning haze,
back in the car,
what to bring and what to leave behind, love.
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Well you've got a car full of clothes,
you've got your Steinbeck novels,
you've got your wine glasses,
you've got your summer sandals.
You've got your sunglasses,
you're ready to go
to the gold state,
the gold coast.
Sun comes through the shade,
lands on the ceiling,
it came ninety-three million miles
just to be here.
Maybe it's not so far
maybe it's not so far
maybe it's not so far
to California.
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