Alternate realities confront me daily. Not so much what if as why not—
I have records; they’re set to infinity play. But I’ll sing what pops into my head against the beautiful sounds that meet me as I lay in my bed. It’s dissonance that sends me senseless to sleep; I’ll awake with wide eyes and a gulf much to deep.
It makes me wonder why I can’t pick and choose between parts that I love and the parts I would love to lose.
If I could take your hand and take his attitude and take a clear head and then a Quaalude, I think tension’d take me higher than I’ve gone before and take me out into the world, yet away from the door.
I’ve found my way to find a natural rhyme and rhythm in speech, but the line—it is awkward
and there’s things I can’t speak without breaking it off. My mouth’s tough and tongue’s course and voice starting to grow hoarse from explaining away why I love both you and hated today.