my dad bought an electric guitar
he’s trying to relate his suburban youth
to the process through which I became the kind of punk
who screams in basements
there are days when I should turn my phone off
and leave it like that for days on end, suspended
like traveling away from the Dream Motel
and not minding the bilious silence
why does this seem so heroic?
to plug in an amplifier, I must unplug
the billowing sail machine that brings me to the shores of touch,
with the people I want to remember me
to announce a visit, a drop by
(to turn on the phone again)
out of the blue, out of the wind
but they never do, they never do
