The Covers

I'm in an Uber home,

Cruising into the sunrise.

I'm filled with something right now.
I don't know what it is but it sounds like Nora Jones.

In the bar... twelve hours ago.

The Cranberries we're playing.
But when we got in bed and she slid two fingers under my belt...

Others in my hair. The liquor made my lips numb but I can still feel...
It sounded more like Stairway to Heaven. Or Sonic Youth's Superstar.

Making tea in the kitchen at midnight
To Jack Johnson.
And then watching her splashing a shot of Jack Daniels into her elephant mug of black tea.
Sly smile through eyes that told me she wanted
To catch up to me.

Because she was still on Jack Johnson
And I felt more like Sex and Candy.

Now the driver's fingers brush over the volume dial;

Some 2009 karaoke number is flooding through the speakers.

I can't hear it.

The Chasm

I am not an announcement.

I am not one big achievement that carries me like a 

Wave to the next peak in my life.

I am a slow, mounting anthill 

Of tiny swells towards ideas about which nobody is more excited than me.

I'm not "down for whatever".

I am an edifice.

I come with multiple contingency plans.

There is nothing instant about my gratification,

And I've never taken a shower that wasn't hot as fuck,

And I feel as big as the ocean,

And as deep as a drum,

And as mammoth as a barrel full of wine.

You'd have me sleeping with one eye open 

But fuck that because I am a force,

And even when I am buried in the ground,

I will continue to form earthquakes until 

The house of your memory has fallen into the chasm of me.