When it finds a match,
the fire sends its regards
for the source of its warmth.

Where heat  
and breast floats gold,
I see the old sky new.

Why a mold
that charms cats and brothers
as the offender of kings.

What's more,
it knows
the Tarantula D'amour.

We all burn slow,
even if we die young;
so be it.

Well, let's live
today if not and especially
tomorrow doesn't exist.

when we trace the fear
backwards
we come upon treasure
that was lost
like the canary in the coal mine.

I am not cool,
and that is cool.

hummus is cool,
and it loves people
more than I do.

The laughing shadowy girl
who stood at midnight
by the flowering tree
is cool.

I stand in a city of glass,
dying so deep
near the message river,
uncool.

The only true currency
in this bankrupt world
is what you share with someone else
when you're uncool.

Thanks, Elliot.
Your name is not Elliot.

But I have to give you a new name to move on.

I see a left collarbone
on a complicated Pisces
who collects records.

I see the condensation
on a can of club soda
sitting in the garage.

I see smells
as memory,
reminding me to sing the time being.

a couple quarter hours
until we implode into music.

Dream of joy with me,
while ordering books
from Amazon drones.

So much can happen here;
walking around waiting
to get my feelings hurt.

Time to let go.

There are two ways to make a transition
on a mixtape: smooth or jarring.

I've never been to an Opening Day,
and never to a World Series game.

I did once go to a game against the Red Sox,
but it got rained out before it started,
and I ended up at a vegan restaurant
on 72nd & Lex with Steve-O from *******.

Today is a holiday,
watching with my daughter,
both of us wearing custom Yankees jerseys.

I am as proud as
Thurman Munson's mustache

This is better than any
World Series or victory
of the ******* Red Sox;
this is magic and made memory.

Maybe this season
will be the one, a home run,
for team and me.