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
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