Also Wilco

Really.


We drove forty-four and a half miles in the rain,

tearing up across every other song.

The usual procedure.

I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t easy.

Am I more attracted to you,

or your erogenous anti-art?

All these insecurities are within us:

I forgot to be brilliant.

You forgot to remember

the silvery stars.

I am trying to make you,

See.


By: Jake Adams

Off the Map, Wherever You Are

Everything’s a memory.


El Paso, Texas with Dale Watson:

I touched her hair,

the only cool girl at a Sufjan concert.

Everyone else is already taken.

This feeling of being 2,400 miles from the snow,

yet wanting to feel the cold encroaching like

a maverick child who knows no better,

or a subway system that loops

around and around

to the exact same spot

before derailing in a random act of God.

Asymmetrical hymns of praise

sung by sober sailors

who need nothing more than

that old tyranny of sacred sacrifice.

Who understands the cryptic music of desire?



By: Jake Adams