I feel the lawn mower skipping on the cement
The gasoline and lit cigarette scent
All of the joys that come with a new age
I feel the divorcee’s repressed rage
I feel the preacher’s horniness
I feel the fifth grader’s first kiss
I feel the mailman’s sweat pour

I feel the mascara-run whore

All of the failed tests and scores

I feel what a poet adores
I feel the teacher’s nihilistic gloom

I feel the rousing belle’s perfume
I feel the tears of blighted affection

And the faith in love’s resurrection
I feel the football team’s chants and grunts

I feel the pothead’s finely-rolled blunts
I feel the smell of newly cut grass

I feel the breeze move too fast
I feel the car alarm in the dead of night

All that I should and should not write
I feel the suicide of the kid who sits next to you

I feel what you won’t believe is true
I feel the Bubblelicious water-park summer

I feel your innocence ripped asunder
I feel the pulsating pain in your chest

I feel the attained, well-deserved rest
I feel the hole in your blanket where the cold gets in

I feel the addict who won’t recover again
I feel the sleeping bag on your camping trip

I feel the hand hiking up your slip
I feel the moonglow on a desolate Friday night

I feel the car tank’s empty gauge light
I feel the old all-american restaurant down the street

I feel the hot summer simmer a cold treat
I feel the blur that you think you are

I feel the solider who isn’t with us, but isn’t far
I feel the shrapnel of a negligible son

I feel the pictures, memories that look like we had fun
I feel the cracked Norman Rockwell

I feel the hopeful trapped in a hell
I feel the light and I feel the love

I feel the trite and all of the above