I am looking for the holes

the holes in your jeans

because I want to know

are they worn out in the seat

or are they worn out in the knees



there are so many ways to wear

what we've got before it's gone

to make use of what is there

I don't wear anything I can't wipe my hands on



do your policies fit between the headlines

are they written in newsprint, are they distant

mine are crossing an empty parking lot

they are a woman walking home

at night

alone

they are six string that sing

and wood that hums against my hipbone



we can't afford to do anyone harm

because we owe them our lives

each breath is recycled from someone else's lungs

are enemies are the very air in disguise



you can talk a great philosophy

but if you can't be kind to people

every day

it doesn't mean that much to me

it's the little things you do

the little things you say

it's the love you give along the way



when we patch things up

they say a job well done

but when we ask why

where did the rips come from

they say we are subversive

and extreme, of course

we are just trying to track a problem to its source



because we know we can't sit back

and let people come to harm

we owe them our lives

each breath is recycled from someone else's lungs

our enemies are the very air

our enemies are the air



we are looking for the holes

the holes in your jeans

because we want to know

are they worn out in the seat

or are they worn out in the knees