(you play guitar like my imaginary lover)

If you were that guy, the one to skip school, flashback, we are young and stupid. You had this grayish black trench coat you wore over an old t-shirt. Converse, sometimes you’d untie them on purpose, on convenient store curbs where we drank 6 packs of soda or maybe snuck a beer every now and then if Charles gave us one; we entertained him, played mime games. I did the talking while you pantomime a theatrical success. You took to smoking one week when he gave us free packs of cigarettes. So you smoked an entire pack then threw up behind the dumpster. Then the buses began to run late – to midnight - one to the beach, one to the valley, listening to boat ventures or selling it all ventures, backpackers, and German girls homeless beneath the lifeguard stands. Heard their screams at night. No big thing just keep it quiet. Ganged at the pinball machine, pushed to the back corner of the game room.

The flashing lights, dinging, hear the clack of pinball paddles, laser killing flying ships, hair pulled, and learn to fight. Learn to bite or at least try. It’s an animalistic game of domination. After that smoking gay clown attempting to get a hit at you. Damn, it seems we’re always ducking – is that what teens joke about – how they escaped fondling drunks or gang rape? – our survival skills developed . The men who want some fresh teen girl ass and the women who snag husbands early, hating away the competition, giving wrong directions, denying jobs, forming catty little clubs like gay bars with dancing cages; drunk and lonely. Marring faces, creating indiscretion - the trolls, the elite, the barrio back roads.

We found a record store curb next door… then the years came and they pulled you away somehow, from shop class, from the curb. You holed up in your room with acne breakouts, with depression and Joey said it was because you had bad Ty-stick or windowpane, I told you not to touch the windowpane, but you did anyway and went too far inward. Stopped talking, expecting me to read your mind and hear your thoughts. Like Andrew – and we’d sit around in a shade drawn apartment while his mom was out and go through thrift store t-shirts playing mind games, ESP with colors, numbers, and animals, playing remote viewing or government experimental madness.

How the TV shows and media perpetuated youth, young boys playing doctor in closets.

You hate me when we enter into each others thoughts and there you are again with your hands at my neck, I lean in with my breath against your lips, you always flinch – torn between hate revenge and lust.

Just once.

--- make out in the bathroom stall, warm night, little sweaty and dirty like candy grabbing from a bucket trick or treating middle school rooms. Tiny white paper sacks filled with dum-dums and mints.

(p.s. thanks for the 2006 show in houston B-Head.... great dance...  p.s.s these are ALL yours... get a lawyer.)