Nineteenth Entry

I should probably tell those concerned that I have an apt and have had it for several days. I do not however have an internet....or a working computer. Which is admittedly pretty craphound, as I never backed up all the poems and other things I was writing this past year. Fun stuff. Anyways, onwards and upwards.

P.S. everybody go out and buy Dana Levin's new book Wedding Day it's awesome.

Here's my poem:

FOR DANA (OR 2500 BASSISTS ARE AT THIS MOMENT STRUMMING AN E NOTE IN FOUR/FOUR)

When I'm comfortable enough to empty the basin of my friend's cynicisms
and find the empty old envelopes inside
and I won't have to wait for the R train
to pull into the R train stop
and not let anybody on
and the cigarette I flick will bounce back into my mouth
and I'll smoke the filter to make it appear casual
the 2500 bassists will drop their medium picks
and watch morbidly as they fall through the space in the boards
like the four of diamonds in my new deck of cards
that I play with anyway hoping to gain some cheater's edge.
And the amplifiers will hum

when the rain spills off of the window I forgot to close
and the union street bridge will erupt in momentary
and inexplicable fireworks, unprovoked,
because I'd like to think I keep track of every holiday
and I'll remember how much Angela liked the sparklers
and I'll remember how much I did as well
and reading is the only thing I can do at my new place and I don't wanna

and I'll think about all the fun little internet applications I'd have running right now and when Dana asked me whether or not the sound your computer makes when it 'logs on' is a recording or not and I didn't know and still don't know. If it was a recording why is it so dissonant and unpleasant? Why is everybody so worried they won't be considered ironic enough to get laid? Why am I wearing socks when it's so hot just because that's what is expected of me by my culture?

And by culture I mean the proverbial moldy person in my freezer telling me what to do
and by proverbial I mean he commands me around the place using verbs
and in four/four the e note doesn’t really move at all, it just sort of sits there
like an old man who grew up in this neighborhood
moved
and comes back every day. And by neighborhood I mean this carbon jacket
I flip over my head to pretend I have a bond with the people who inject themselves
into the buildings next to mine even though we have never and will never speak
that'll be when I'm comfortable enough
to mail all those envelopes back to the original owners
and tie myself to a roman candle and light the fucker
and paint myself an original unexpected color
and switch from E to a G blues progression which I know will sound weird
and hang myself from a shingle on the wall
and I will say 'open for business'