Beautiful Disaster (Acoustic)

While waiting for you in earnest, I fell into a jagged sleep, woke up with my head in a quarry; and I am reminded of the beauty of our common disasters. It's guilt by association really, because I only have an academic connection to what is beautiful--exceptions include sleeping pills, low-lying fog and small and dependent mammals. When you walk through the door, I will have to say something about your decision to marry a man, take his name. Ink spots, different meanings in softer light or at an angle, which gives you entirely too much credit. But maybe I just really want you to walk through the door, or carry wet sand. Where'd you get that nasty bruise? "I sent away for it, you want one?"

Corduroy

I thought my own episodes lacked sustainable subtext, but like everything else precious I’ve crammed them in a bottle and capped it to prevent depletion. My strongest memories are salted for preservation, but that doesn’t mean they lack moisture and go uneaten. But it is nice enough to think a wool blanket can keep us warm when we can’t stop ourselves from dripping onto the stone floor of a stained-glass cathedral. My prayers for you are corduroy, full of noisy texture that steals its pigment from the bleached weeds of my future happiness.

“I am loving you beside the man with his pants down…”

In this unfamiliar state with no more to say for myself than “regret me,” I disremember you, which is more than forgetting, a harder kind of clot. Together is such a long time and I cannot transform your quickly enough into your equation. You are too meticulous, use the scientific method to love me to death until all data is burned by chemical fire. I am going to a wedding in a place where I have been to a wedding before, where we are not the cutest couple on the 30 Stockton anymore but messy and infrequent phone calls. I think perhaps I was too far-gone or too young to have been the wiser. My dying wish, take your goddamn name off the title of my car.