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