1989: The Best Four Years Of My Life

This is a picture postcard. greetings from wherever I am
I’ve been handled and perused by second hand men in hand me down shoes
you want me to sing you a song? what key do you want it in?
I’ve got the perfect pitch.
Dress and doll me up and ill assume your role. dissect me.
don’t you disappoint me. you can lay me on your table and cut me up with your
scalpel. ill slip on the concrete just to get it right.
I’m your fool of all fools. trapped in grammatical errors, we’re all prison
pent. monsters make love in my closet with skeletons.
the doors wide open. these words are recorded from black lungs.
You cant hug a photograph or kiss a melody but you can still relive memories
I’m encased in tattered transparencies and worn out grooves smoothed out by use
from a needle tracing impressions of direction
you can pick up my broken body, dust me off, remember that I tried
remember that we all tried
maybe this time the words will make sense.
is it so hard to lose your thoughts like mine?
it balms the mind with painless numbing novacaine neverminds.
Maybe this time the notes will fit in tune, I am the emulsion.
dead letters still can speak
we are not unique but we still can pretend as long we stand on the shoulders of
shadows of giants that were never there.
you can cleanse me
your melodies and harmonies erase me