From Behind the Curtain

I write to you
 to tell you where I live now
 It is a small town
 in the west
 There are three corners that encompass it all
 the asylum, the pub, and the catholic church
 Went into the church for the first time like a spy
 the circuit board of the town
 what makes it all work on Sundays
 The holy water burns
 and I choke on the sacrament
 It is dry and bitter like the cracks in our memories
 I write to you
 I don't mean to raise you from your sleep with my pen
 but I've many questions again
 I know your father shot himself and you were not told
 you sought the city for a man to make the bed that we have now
 and I'm here to tell you
 that the world is epic and wrong
 and we are called many things
 and at the whims of what we're called
 I write to you
 The sky is lavender in Los Angeles
 and it is darkening in County Clare
 These pillars at the opposite sides of the earth
 and we belong there
 Ours were shot in the synagogue
 like we have been before
 We are told to look at the moon
 it's what we do
 The hills are not on fire tonight
 but the sky is
 After the lavender ends
 From behind the curtain
 Stop at the way home from the bar
 to listen to the wind
 because it sounds like the waves
 in California