Monday, March 31, 2014

Notes from the only guy in the audience who knows the song titles

invisible Mondays
recontaminating the soundscape we made for Buffy
vibrations haunt the air
friendly ghosts in 1-3-5

matrons and arrows
impressarios cluck their tongues and click their heels

basslines on red velvet curtains
but Garth left his soul in the van

Garth in a touring band now
sends me postcards describing indifference in the southwest
of Monday night vacuums sucking marrow out of air

blue and red collide in the dark
amplifiers and spilled beer
three and a half minutes to believe in God
seven if you're high

The singer is missing his right hand
yet still he beats out time on his guitar
in so many towns and cities

they'll tell you about towns and cities
their leather couches, their sparkles, their butter
their de rigueur indifference
their flaxen haired girls, noses pressed to screens
say a prayer for rock and roll
because young girls have forgotten how to dance

meals at thirty intervals
"They're using the skin!" she yells above the din
I've heard that nuns drink beer while on vacation
mighten they sit beside me?

for instance, Miss Rayon and her crayons
bearded boys doing soundchecks amongst the pigmies
yes sir, yes indeed
amplifiers are doing it for themselves

we've no brains in Soddom
we believed Jesus played stand-up bass

step up to the plate young man
and tell me about the human condition
you've 160 seconds

the Spanish boy with the beard and the cap
reliable across continents and over the litany of years
his children prayed for rain then smiled when it came

the god of soft missiles
weeps inside a terrarium
his stars went out
his telegraph fell upon deaf ears

these girls stride purposefully back and forth
did no one tell them they could dance?
their indifference to the beat is the stuff of tragic legend

Napster's a dad thing by now

oh Ricky
who have you stolen from this time?
whose optimism have you trampled underfoot?

his biography
a footnote on the pimple of defeat

I penned a trenchant treatise on the reemergence of facial hair on men under thirty
these men fill with me optimism for the travails of the future

exigencies and gunfire
there is no Plan B

a soft country two step
under a big moon
in an untorn sky
divorce but a bitter future star

death haunts a maiden
rivers perplex the astronomer
birds make no demands on our time
yet we anthropomorphize them just the same

music is easy
you just have to believe

please spare a thought for the boys in the band

don't grow worried
don't grow cold

a Swedish drummer's life is available for streaming
his bildungsroman now in 192kbps
tone poems for the deaf
X the unheard music

a city where winter came
and never left

what does it feel like, sleeping on the sidewalk?
what does it feel like, outside in the cold?
exiled from Eden
we know how that feels

Miss Rayon stands on her chair
"The bartender's been kidnapped. Drinks are on me!"
her Thursday promises to be a hot mess
life is an all-day breath mint adventure

we cross ourselves each time we leave this place
we're the invention we know best
doesn't the spinning of the planets drive you crazy?

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