20-11-07
We keep coming back to it.
What was so special about Saturday’s?
Korvettes, with albums in racks, sealed in plastic .
Arm on door side open window
Today, the bakery
Why?
They close soon.
I could never write that song today.
In between a Saturday morning
In the Philly burbs
And an empty room in LA.
in between
Within
Ensconced
Removed
Propelling.
It’s like high-tech parenting
With the baby lunar module 150,000 miles away.
And mom hears the pain cry, smoking cigars and drinking coffee, in a white shirt with a tie,
looking at a blinking red light on a console.
Note to self: Don’t lock yourself out of the module when you head down to the surface.
Standing on the Moon
In SF,
At his house—
Soon after.
She didn’t get it.
Yet it was so important, personally.
And deeply helpful.
Necessary.
Even though the original
(my version)
Went back to shoveling snow,
After her (different) visit.
So much hope in her glimmering songs.
I just wanna get the tempo
Get it right
Lock it in.
The tambourine helps
But truth be told
I wasn’t far off
Out of the gate.
Didn’t want to rush
Know it too well
Don’t really have time
For the important things.
So tempo
Is all we have
To ensure
We are actually experiencing
The important things,
Like errands on a Saturday
With dad
Bubble gum from the cleaners
(the good kind),
Driving through for the shirts in a box
And the branded hangers.
To this day
She is a consistent source of chaos.