Might do a short set at Art House tomorrow (directions can be found in the Upcoming Events section).
Leaving Like a Return
I used to only call you
when jerking off
in a sweat reminiscent of late November
didn’t hit the spot.
Don’t ask me where I’ve been
because I honestly don’t remember much
but I probably stopped at the liquor store
on the way
taking a penny for the road.
It’s nice to see you, though –
I’ve missed your “company”.
been writin’ too many poems about New York
so I knew that I had to escape off to New England to drink with some friends
who collect vintage posters of Eraserhead
for a week or so
but they smoke too much pot and sit around talking about Joss Whedon’s brilliance
for too long
so I had to return
like a gunshot in April.
I called you as soon as I got back,
I swear it, honey.
it might have been a mistake
you always hated my preoccupation with death
and slow black-and-white Jarmush films
and that I once told your mother that she “made the best fucking meatloaf I’ve ever had” and that I once resurrected from your parents bathroom high
with my eyes pinned
during Easter dinner entr’acte and proceeded to drink two bottles of wine
(as though I was preparing for the overture)
but that was all so long ago.
And every time I’m reminded that I miss your taste
because I could never replicate it with the others
And you know that I once loved you
and you know that’s the truth
as much as I like Cointreau in my orange juice
and now you’re here again
in my bed and in my mind like some eponymous agony
and I’m grateful
don’t get me wrong
but you could at least do the fucking dishes.
I enjoy your smell on my bedsheets
again like a romantic tragedy reinvented
but you could at least make the bed
and not ensconce me
with our past that we both know
was like getting dirt in your mouth
on a long road trip west.
There’s too much love between us still
like a short Belle & Sebastian song playing through shitty speakers
and too much acrimony
for us not to know each other anymore.
So, it’s nice to see you
because you’ve always played the part well:
my lost vision on a cold day,
my brutal beginning
as the reason to leave again…
it might have been swell,
but I never remember much –
which is really the only gift
you’ve ever given me,
but, it’s all I’ve ever really needed.