We boast no population, and we don’t collect a tax, our monuments are vacant and our holidays: relaxed. Standale is the time between the future and the past, the space is most contingent on a journey’s First and Last. This town is more correctly labeled as a state of mind, decide that you have left it, and you’ve left it all behind. But while you find yourself here, may you please enjoy your stay, and take in all the beauty that is hiding in decay. But please, try to speak in the present tense, even if you find it makes no difference.

Stand still Stay on your feet / Leave the place inside your head. Don’t fall asleep / Trust me, there is more ahead. Walk gravel streets / There’s fruit for sale just down the road. What’s incomplete? / And did you just say you were bored? Stand atop a landlocked island, open sea: a mystery, everything is fine with me right now. Wind keeps hold of dancing feet and sets your bond with gravity, learn cursive and learn God at the same time. There’s no need to rush the stage, others do just fine and play, off of unfamiliar terrain. Visions of eternity, lambs receive immunity, as the butcher turns to grab his knife. Most satisfied in magazines, face-down/dreaming/fast asleep, I swear this is a decent place, at least a most sufficient place. 49534 Hungry eyes see further than I care to feel, grasses I know I won’t feel under my feet. Now is but a moment from the main event, but it is and was a moment all the same. I’d like to think a squirrel always dreams of his home, I understand the schemes forged by a garden gnome. The reek of stark impatience from the day we’re born, nomads from the start and restless until close. Stand still, and see what I feel.

Too hot for this time of year, the air is far too thick, marsh of premonition sends our eyes up past the sticks. Painted unfamiliar shades, the clouds with ill-willed smiles, omen’s just a word ‘til now, imaginations run wild. All on edge and all are tense, a road across the waves, coming closer every tick, safe while they are motionless. Wrapped in concrete floors and walls, all hid under the stairs, the sound of skies that come alive are mixed with muttered prayers. Turn the locks to hide away the truth that all avoid, and wonder if the Dodo every knew he’d be destroyed. All afraid and all distressed, a roar outside the door, some are still outside the stairs, close your eyes and go somewhere safe. (Take your best coat, leave your mother, photo albums, head for cover. Where’s the dog? I miss poor Sparky, to the next town, lead the party. Forget something? Maybe someone? Dear old friend, I think you must be lost.) Seventeen didn’t make it to the stairs.

Dawn every day, feels like every day, Brown dirt lies, it lies to brown out things, it’s your fault, dirt never lied to me. (We are all animals, skin and teeth, vessels for mere carbon. On this chain, I’ll watch you rust and break, drown face-down in the mud.) Oh you pull on me, all your stains, Oh you’ve ruined me, your disgrace, oh you’ve broken me, all your stains. Oh you’ve destroyed me, your disdain, oh you’ve broken me, curse the rain. (We do tricks and play dumb, we are just pushing fragile limits until we rust away. Take my hand, trust in my steady grip. Such a boy, sweaty palms, leave your feet, now I’ll shake you right off.) Now don’t act so surprised, you saw this all along, the ground’s where we belong, tell me what it’s like. You belong in the ground.

The Red Door is closed, the Village: town of ghosts, I thought I was home, I thought this as home. The weeds in our backyards, ignored right from the start, now can’t look away, my eyes can’t escape. Our city isn’t for us people anymore, paid off with minimum wage while they’re still underage. Halfway from job and home, all strangers walk alone. Where are we to go?

Only regret: not having regrets, a boy with spindly legs trapped in his backyard. You life, you learn, he’s not learned enough, a boy at the blackboard solves outside the rules. A cheater, a lie, he skipped all the steps, a boy with faultless past, a conscience so pristine. How nice, so clean, a child ‘til the end, you almost had them fooled, you almost passed for man. Born and bred on air conditioning, sterile home and pesticides. While his neighbors earned their grass stains, he was safely locked inside. Pounding fists into the pavement, begging for the same mistakes. Longing for the long-forgotten, even so much longer lost. Big Sid was just a brainless snake, and I know there’s not a gator living in the Cummings lake, but still the story stays, legends still remain. Not all are born to make front page, and even if the world’s a great big pseudo-theater stage, who has time for plays? And who’d care anyways? Legend, yeah right. Footnote, not quite, blink and you’ve missed him, antithesis of sin. Managed no scratch, no scars attached, no knows it makes no sense, the need for some regret. I know this makes no sense, the need for some regret, trail caution through the cracks, a soft and riskless track. Big Sid was just a snake, but they still know his name. They say you live and then you learn, but I’ve managed to learn nothing and I offer even less, a speech with nothing said; a book that’s never read. And yes, I know this makes no sense, jealous of the things most would like to forget and recompense, but try these baby shoes and feel what it’s like to have everything to lose.

Where are we going on this long old road? So grown, grown up from the roots. They’ve taken all, and are too heavy for themselves. They’ve begun to fade away. Chop down the bitter wind, just cover me up, just grab ahold enough to catch my breath, sinking, falling down, you’ve outgrown me too. And surge doesn’t move, doesn’t work inside. And parts they clink, they clink/collide, they all rust and fall, just like me. They’ve done it to themselves. (Survive until the end and yes I’ve lost a friend lost that and so much more they said I was a bore. They key, simplicity rings true in my city but now that place has changed it’s all been rearranged. We’re deaf from traffic noise the men replaced the boys but I remember once the winter had long gone.) The boy’s been dreaming all alone tonight Rose tree beaming amid tufts of light I’ve a pretty rose, he said happily Smooth red wood felt on his palm Blood red ran & coursed & trickled down One simple delight, now in thorns abound The boy, he met me there, he grew those thorns, he grew those stings, he pined away and growth was his. The ground was mud, barefoot and safe, shadows on walls, boy’s mother’s face. I still remember. I was just a child then. I was innocent.

We’ve had this conversation before, scraped our knees on the concrete below. Burning in fluorescence, I can’t see straight, streetlights clutter the stars, and I’ve lost North. But I’ll pray for a blackout, but I’ll pray for dark. You’ve found solace in numbers and steel, traded your rust for a new song to sing. Burning in fluorescence, I can’t see straight, streetlights clutter the stars, and I’ve lost North. But I’ll pray for a blackout, but I’ll pray for dark.

Surprised again, springs breathes new life, place void of death, but not alive. The greasy spoon, misshapen dreams, the fast-food chains, humdrum machines. Remember when that lot was bare? Tales told by light shot through the air, turned radios to just the right station, spellbound by fantasy between grass and stars. But I slipped again, lost track of when, and it’s all the same, and it’s all so plain. I’m standing still, the town evolves, beneath my feet, well, more like dissolves. They say it’s new, and shiny too, we needed change and landfill fuel But I’ve seen this place some times before behind the billboards on 8-lane roads. I miss the grass, I miss the stars, and I miss the things that made this ours. Stories between grass and stars, popcorn in backseats of cars. Can’t make the trip to yesteryear, this type of thing you forget to fear. And you have changed in the same way. I’m not OK, I’m not OK. Begin at the end, and end where we begin, I didn’t even notice it was April 3rd again. We are moving, Standale’s changing, everything’s the same, even if what we remember’s not what it became. Can’t make the trip to yesteryear, this type of thing you forget to fear. So tune the dial, turn up the sound, just leave yourself and all that’s around. Just lean right up to the windshield / now who’d deny that dreams are real? And you have changed in changeless ways / and I’m OK, yes I’m OK!

So build again and tear it down, Standstill, always been the same town, the past is bittersweet to know, half-smiling as I let it go.