I Wish I Was Noah

(ska-rock pulse beneath a collapsing art-pop piano line) I wish I was Noah with a list and a boat and a patient divine misunderstanding I’d pair up my regrets and call them animals so they behave in the dark The sky is rehearsing its monologue again it stutters in thunder, forgets its own lines and I sit on the pavement of a future I borrowed counting the cracks like they owe me money And the horns come in wrong like a celebration at the end of a warning we dance in offbeat time because syncopation feels closer to honesty I wish I was Noah but I’d forget the wood, forget the rain, forget the reason and the ark would just drift like a thought I abandoned somewhere between “maybe” and “too late” (progressive shift tempo bends, instruments arguing softly) There’s a cello pretending to be a siren there’s a guitar that refuses to resolve and I am conducting nothing in particular with hands that remember how to pray but not what for You said “everything will flood eventually” like it was advice, like it was comfort but I think you meant “everything you love will need to learn how to float without you” (free improvisation section fragmented, half-spoken) I saw a dove in a parking lot it looked like it was waiting for paperwork I asked it if it knew the way out it said “all exits are imaginary when wet” I laughed too late like a drum hit behind the beat of its own joke (return fragile ska rhythm, almost optimistic but limping) I wish I was Noah but I’d probably argue with the weather I’d say “this is not a good metaphor for me right now” and the sky would shrug and continue And the ark would never finish being built because I’d keep sanding the same memory trying to make it smooth enough to survive contact with what I’ve become So I stay on land with my little orchestra of almost playing songs that don’t quite rescue anyone but at least they try to hold their breath with me