listening to Department of Eagles
and watching Blue Valentine,
wishing for rain
out of spiteful sadness
and the cadence it gives my fingers.
sit with me in the grass
right in your spot,
the one I have been saving for you
since 17th street,
before you gave up listening,
since two-thousand something.
very cord everything forgotten,
where the muscles make
me go insane on a drug called nostalgia,
because it is a certain hyper mix
of songs and shows and goes.
play with me
while reading this poem,
and let's sing, saying Hey Hey Hey,
while looking at the moon in jackets,
as long as you believe me
this time round.