I follow Jesse Woods on Instagram
and message him a lot about his songs,
Sparks and Ugly Dress,
just to confess what you meant to me
tp someone who might listen.
Goosed and Googled,
I am just duct-taped
like a boner of song,
sucking writing wrongs
off the tongs of forks
I need stories to keep going
so tell me about your ponytail,
nor the wild pain
of a Joan Didion
that I cause ya.
In a coffee shop
in Menlo Park,
I consider the sky
and the reasons to die
or run with fire in hands.
None are confounding,
just silly texts and hexes,
therefore I hug the waitress
and hold the door,
telling the entrants my secrets.
More songs to sooth the day
but not to make it go away,
for I'd rather you stay, even in sad nostalgia,
so I enlist the bathroom for boredom
and embrace toilet paper notes.
I check Twitter and give up
on comedy twice before midnight,
poetry ten thousand times before lunch,
because the weekend scares me
and I have twenty sets.