Can't Find Home

~a collaborative poem by Scott Low & Shannon Foley

Liquor has started tasting
much more like home,
filling in all the holes.
I have nowhere left to go.

Grease your guns today,
effects unbound by your belongings.
It was too many decisions ago,
when we laughed like this.

There aren't any saviours.
and there ain't no saving left.
There's just me and you alone
smoking too many cigarettes.

I might as well be alone,
coulda just leaked outside.
I've done heard this song before,
it was my mama out the door.

That bluesman moans on my radio,
Giving me all the words
that get swallowed down in whiskey,
and ache inside my throat.

I'm a man's man, howling out
some sounds, could just be words.
I'll cut you for sourmash,
so darling come on home.

A bird outside the bedroom
belts out lonely songs all night.
I curse him in the blackness,
what the hell went wrong with this life?

Knew it was a joke last time,
just satire and fumbling for years.
Thought I was tired, but that was illusion
created in my inside so I could die.