Art Buchwald, a famous 70's humorist, was dying in Washington. In an article about him, the writer mentioned a personal encounter: "And I drove him home that night, grasping a scrap of paper on which he'd scrawled, ever so slowly and in trembling script, his address in Vineyard Haven with the words 'yellow mailbox.'"
I thought about the post office knowing where to deliver mail just by that phrase "yellow mailbox." And I thought of him sick and dying and the mailbox unattended, piling up. The image of the abandoned mailbox with unread thoughts sparked a number of images.
The song's about thoughts we suppress, that we don't say, while a relationship is dying. Probably better that we don't say them. And when the relationship is over, it's too late anyway.
Another experiment in "collage" writing -- a series of images and impressions that swirl around a central idea.....
Photo courtesy Carolyn Gabriel's B&B in Oregon