I sit on my bedroom floor,
Sweating,
Contemplating chopping this mop from my skull.
Watching my strands fall to the floor,
And writing each one a four-chord goodbye song.
The junkyard dog alive in my back pocket
Whispers things like "he'll never love you anyway".

Now I've got
Blue hair.
Are you
Still there?

No, now you're dropping acid on the mountain top.

Your arms are just two pieces collected from Saturn's rings
We're all made up as the same stuff as stars

The car beside me is from Quebec
And I hear children whispering in French
I'm accidentally realizing my own existence
Trapped inside this steel contraption
Like if I were to take off my clothes I would simply be naked
Or if I were to cut my hair I would just be carrying around a few less secrets
Who likes shoulder length secrets anyway
So maybe I'll sharpen this car key on the parking lot pavement
And give myself a good old fashioned trim

How is it that all of the songs reeling through my speakers
Call but one thought to mind
A boy in forest green, and then my own reflection
I watch myself float past in a mirror made of river water

These are words I threw to pavement
Many Mays ago
Not for you, but about you
Not dead, but dormant

My shoulders quake in your memory
And I keep dreaming that you shaved your head
There were sopranos hidden in the bed frames
And altos renting out the bathroom window

You rest your head on state park driveways
In the backseat of your best friend's car

When you walked across that stage
I thought you'd shudder at my ghost
But you didn't
You staggered behind classmates in robes and
Forgot about the shirts I stole from you

Forgot about the first night by the river
Forgot about my brand new chipped tooth
Forgot about the night in the shed, a shirt pulled over your head
Forgot about the night I sang about fire water in the walk-in closet

I'm still lying numb on the gymnasium floor
You found your way to the big city's door

There you go again,
Sprinting through 300 and some days,
On your way to find the time machine.
Twenty years spent trapped inside a
Toy chest featuring constricted breaths.

I'm sorry that any of us ever got older than eighteen.

When I said
Meet me in Monatauk,
I meant it.

And the only thing
You've ever meant
Was well.

I was hurled from the heavens
When I fell through a cloud,
Right arm first
Reaching for your hand
And what keeps my sides scraped
Is the way my rib cage drags
Just a few feet behind yours