#1

Here’s our man

in the basement of a building

constructed circa late 60’s,

his home, Looavull.

Looavull, Kentucky

no scratch that. 

in a basement-esque room in Iowa.

Ames, Iowa.

he’s playing nostalgia,

an air guitar.

his hair plays trampoline over his nose,

over his eyes.

his torso plays rocking chair

his feet play hot invisible coals under his feet.

and

his ears play late-teen alt pop punk

constructed circa mid 90’s. 

and reconstructed here,

and now. 

and now,

and every moment of these lines, 

until they end.

oblivious to him,

we exist. 

he will die first and we will die

never.

we watch him play,

whatever.

he will always be doing whatever,

but he will not always,

has not always

played.
we’ve been watching this man for a-

while 

and

I will recall

for you

(lazy bum)

our man, he doesn’t play

often.

his bedroom rock ecstasy

is intermittent,

interrupted by

Work

and 

Necessity. 

and

Contemplation. 

not that work can’t be fun,

and contemplation can’t be enlightening,

but

these are by no means adequate forms of

playing. 

only adequate means for

existing. 

(you have to make up your own

goddam mind if that’s good or bad. you

have to do some of the work)

as he abruptly skips 

two of the boring minutes and ends the effing song,

they cry,

we cry,

Encore!

Encore!

Encore!

***

No, scratch that, our man is in McDonald’s.

there’s a fucking billion of those.

pick one, wherever,

(I’m picking Utah)

and put him on a table,

jumping and

kicking trays and

meat patties 

all over McD’s playing his axe

while

mothers and fathers of Utah

(or wherever)

shield their young 

impressionable

children from the sheer atrocity of

play

elevated

(literally)

to such a level. 

 #this kind of thing should be limited to the confines of your room! child!#

(he’s fourteen, 

maybe,

here,

and now

but only for a few more lines)

can this level of fun be had

on the sticky tiled floor?

the answer is a definitive

maybe

play can only be achieved when one gathers

the jealous looks of those not able 

to have fun. 

***

Now he’s in california somewhere,

now Maine,

or wherever.

point being,

home is a four letter word.

and he still won’t know where 

to send his mail next year.