Everyone has to rearrange their feelings,
he says, telling me a story about time
with the theme of transfiguration.
We are in an upstate college bar
surrounded by pseudo rock boys in dirty black denim
and girls just trying to be seen,
not the place for introspection.
But my main man continues,
marveling at it all, using the way
we got here as a good example.
The spinning of the spectacular,
he says, the silhouette of all,
and then he orders us shots of Makers
as if to say fuck it, there is nothing we can do.