from the liner notes of the mountain goats lp i just bought
BELIEVE IN YOURSELF. YOU CAN GET OUT IF YOU'RE COMMITTED TO THE EFFORT. THERE ARE NO WINDOWS OR DOORS AND THE WALLS ARE ON FIRE. I LOVE YOU. I LOVED YOU. YOU CAN'T MAKE ME LEAVE. DRIVER OUT TO THE AIRPORT. TAKE THE TRAIN DOWN HERE IF YOU GET A CHANCE. STAY WHEREVER THE HELL YOU ARE. STAY WHEREVER THE HELL YOU ARE. TAKE THE TRAIN DOWN HERE IF YOU GET A CHANCE. DRIVER OUT TO THE AIRPORT. YOU CAN'T MAKE ME LEAVE. I LOVED YOU. I LOVE YOU. THERE ARE NO WINDOWS OR DOORS AND THE WALLS ARE ON FIRE. YOU CAN GET OUT IF YOU'RE COMMITTED TO THE EFFORT. IT'S EASY TO GET OUT IF YOU JUST BELIEVE IN YOURSELF. YOU HAVE REALLY LET YOURSELF GO. YOU ARE NOT WHAT YOU USED TO BE. YOU ARE LOVELY BEYOND COMPARE, BEYOND COMPARE, BEYOND COMPARE, BEYOND COMPARE. WE HAVE NO HOUSE. OUR HOUSE WOULD BE A LOVELY SOUTHWESTERN RANCH IF IT HAD A ROOF. OUR HOUSE IS A LOVELY SOUTHWESTERN RANCH. I'LL TAKE AS MUCH OF THIS AS I CAN POSSIBLY BEAR. I AM GOING TO TAKE THIS A LITTLE WHILE LONGER. I AM NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANY MORE.
nothing i'm afraid of isn't already apart of me
i’ve been clocking in and leaving early
i’ve been sober, but i dont think its working
first came heartbreak, then nothing, then yearning
for something better something different something surely
theres nothing like a fresh blanket of snow
shovel the sidewalk in my sturdy steel toes
smoke a cigar, cough it up, let it go
empty ashtrays into parking lot cove-ert
i’ve been checking my horoscope lately
i’ve been clinging onto something i know will only let me down
i’ve been holding onto roses and shaking the stems clean
i’ve been washing it down with a lot of other things
i can’t stop worrying about stuff i can’t control
my skin and hair, doesn't feel right on my bones
the cause of my control is the grip you had on me
now i’ve lost the plot; try and let me down gradually
bring me to the balcony
let me learn about gravity
tell me something, rattle me
there’s nothing i’m afraid of that isn’t just part of me
ode to autumn (a poem)
an ode to autumn, the changing leaves
an ode to scarves, a wool knit breeze
to smoking on curbs, to knocking knees
to kicking off shoes, and laying in sheets.
an ode to autumn, the changing times,
a clock set backwards, an alarm that rhymes.
to calling you first, and calling you mine,
to the top of the sixth, the first of it's kind.
an ode to autumn, i miss you already.
an ode to autumn, you held the sun steady,
glasses drank to the bottom, we stand, we're sweaty,
an ode to autumn, not sure i was ready.
an ode to autumn, gone as fast as it came,
nothing like seasons, nothing like change,
i'll cry, while you stand far out of frame,
peering out the rearview, blink and change lanes.
a love poem of sorts
in august i was half-drunken stumbling back to your apartment, when the tree roots branched out to the sky. i was sideways-lying on your bathroom floor when the sun came up on saturday. i’ve been waking up with that song stuck in my head. half-warm cups of coffee linger on the living room coffee table. we drink them at night when our schedules open up on sunday, when i can lay my head in your lap for a few hours.
i find a note i wrote you two months ago, in a sea of parisian sun and blonde hair. now all i have is writers block, four empty notebooks, and an idle blog. half-way through october, i make empty promises and eat lots of apples. i make empty apples eat all their promises, and do my homework with greedy fists pounding forks on the table. more and more i want to wash it all down and get the taste out of my mouth. maybe this is finally something good. something sweet like peanut-butter pie.
i pull half-baked raspberry-jam cookies out of the oven. maybe we should try and leave them in a little longer. i leave for the weekend with a ziploc full. it’s halfway through the week when i see you. half-way through goodbye, we have to start over. on thursday, i’m tired and beautiful. i’ve got my thumbs pressed deep in my ears, lipgloss spilling in the pocket of my purse, and popcorn kernels in my back-teeth.
i ride zeno’s arrow halfway to your house, but turn around for a flat tire. god, lately we’ve been so tired. you’re soaked in imaginary cigarette smoke, sometimes it comes out of your ears, but certainly it’s always looming. you tower over me on tip toes, toothbrush hanging from your teeth. im moving all the time, but i know the end won’t come.
shrinking into myself
She tosses me to the sewing machine in the corner. Then there I am. Crumpled up at the base of white remorse and silver dagger; pushing red thread through pale flesh. Two fingers down the throat, until it all comes out through the eye of the needle. It’ll come out with the needle through the eye, only we’ve rearranged the words instead of the brain this time. We’ve outgrown those old techniques, inhumane and elementary, and replaced them with the girl in the mirror and the other over her shoulder.
My skin is stretched tight around the ribs. The joints, my knees and elbows and fingers, protrude in a way that’s painful and sore. But now I’m changed and I’m better for it, I feel like empowered plastic with an extra-small smile. I’m cold and I’m better for it, I feel frail and now I’m too weak to lift myself off the hanger. I’m smaller and I’m better for it, now she can slip me off, and try me on, and wear me like she wanted to. She pulls me over her head and drops me on the bathroom tile. There I lay, paralyzed and bleeding bile, hands on the edge of the porcelain, knuckles blue and bent. Only here, only now, can I be sure that I am beautiful.