Byrne

I wish I wrote and composed the song 

This Must Be the Place. 

I wish I could float outside myself 

and laugh at all this stupid shit. 

For a moment, 

for a second, 

I’d be away from here 

and away from all touch entirely. 

He kisses me in the shower. 

He kisses me inside my brain. 

It’s all so dumb I could scream… 

David Byrne be my dad! 

David Byrne be my boyfriend! 

If I wasn’t so self conscious 

I would dance like him for sure. 

In grocery stores, 

at the gas station,

inside the post office. 

Robotic. 

Uninhibited. 

He’s so weird.

I wanna be weird with him too. 

My eyes gloss over 

and it’s kind of stupid, 

this whole complaining into art thing. 

But seriously? 

What else is there? 

My community set my soul 

and house on fire long ago 

I’m okay with having an affair 

in homeroom in front of everyone

and in county fair camp sites 

with artists playing as grifters 

or grifters playing as artists. 

He begins to eat at it 

and I can’t breathe. 

I need what’s left of my brain, 

fucking please. 

Fuck it all. 

I’ll say good morning, afternoon, and night.

Wake up still all uptight

and dreaming of David Byrne.