SAN JOSE, COSTA RICA: WE WILL BECOME SILHOUETTES (the postal service, chet faker, alt-j)

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you seem so out of context in this gaudy apartment complex. a stranger with no door key explaining that i’m just visiting. and i am finally seeing why i was the one worth leaving. 
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and i have to speculate that god himself did make us into corresponding shapes like puzzle pieces from the clay.
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smeared black ink. your palms are sweaty. and i’m barely listening to last demands. i’m staring at the asphalt wondering what’s buried underneath where i am.
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last week i had the strangest dream where everything was just as it seemed
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don’t wake me. i plan on sleeping in. 
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i feel i must interject here. you’re getting carried away feeling sorry for yourself. with these revisions and gaps in history. so let me help you remember. i’ve made charts and graphs that should finally make it clear. i’ve prepared a lecture on why i have to leave. 
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calm down, release your cares.
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and i want life in every word to the extent that it’s absurd.
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and i’m screaming at the top of my lungs pretending that the echoes belong to someone, someone i used to know. 
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i wanted to walk through the empty streets and feel something constant under my feet.
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…until our shells simply cannot hold all our insides in, and that’s when we’ll explode.
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i’ll be the fire escape that’s bolted to the ancient brick where you will sit and contemplate your day.
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i’ll be the waterwings that save you if you start drowning.
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i’ll be the phonograph that plays your favorite albums back as you’re lying there drifting off to sleep. 
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i’ll be your winter coat buttoned and zipped straight to the throat with the collar up so you won’t catch a cold.
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i want to take you far from the cynics in this town.
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we’ll cut our bodies free from the tethers of this scene. 
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start a brand new colony where everything will change. we’ll give ourselves new names (identities erased.)
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now i’m a novel made resourceful. i start a chain with my thought. 
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cold pain. i cannot sustain it. that’s what i’m thinking, not what i’m drinking. 
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these thoughts are pervasive. it’s not a statement but peace can be evasive. 
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melt my happiness. some kind of fucked up mess.  
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i need a bit of coffee and the warm sun. and the dusty ideas only half spun. 
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i’m not the reason you’re looking for redemption.
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is it absurd for me to hurt when everything else is fading? 
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i’m walking through each smile. 
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she may contain the urge to run away but hold her down with soggy clothes and breeze blocks
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do you know where the wild things go? 
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she’s morphine, queen of my vaccine. 
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she makes the sound, the sound the sea makes, to calm me down. 
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we can’t lose touch, but we can let go. 
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the nights of all my youth pressed into one glass of water. 
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painless with immense distance. 
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painless with a great closeness. 
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legions upon legions of craftsmen handmade my feelings. 

mar2019. San Jose, Costa Rica. 

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