jealous of rock songs

this one's jelous of rock songs
of songs turned up loud
in teenages rooms with doors shut
where the drums match beat
with hearts pounding in the thick
of learning what the world's about
rock songs that fill in when we don't
know what quite to say

wish this was the song i listened to
for two hours laying in a heap
on my closet floor
having thrown the phone
to let my highschool girlfriend choose
wether to hang up or listen to the music
that i immediated played
guitars battling lyrics hurled
by rock singer screaming
music i heard with the hairs on my neck

and why can't this be
something that shuts out the world
with its melody

in the life i meant to live/
i made all right choices.
when i sleep i'd never leave/
my lover's tender voices.

this will never be the song
that reminds some old man
of a girl he knew once
who when she let down her hair
would smile a half-smile
that would feel like shocks from a carpet
when metal was touched

never the song
that gets people turning
when heard from a car windows
the kind that bobs the heads
of even those who hate music
think it just noise

this will never be the song
that i scream from high places
when i feel bold and drunk and giddy
a song that
when scremed
with out of breath
urgency
can sound
like prayer
chanted
by devout
old ladies
who believed
so long
that it
is under
their tissue paper skin
between there
and the visible
veins

i will never write a rock song
that makes you lock your jaw unknowing
masseter jutting
brings feeling to the surface of your eyes
or an ache somewhere inner thigh

these are just words
trite music-less lines
that never leave the page
to catch your ear and whatever else
try and tap your foot
hear the downbeat
of this

a series of experiments: not a story of excitement

it took awhile
to shake off dreams
that i must have zoned out through
so that they never happened
it took awhile
to find my eyes in their hollow cavities
and rub them into action
it's the kind of day
where i want to wake
with someone singing a song
just for me

later, standing
i wondered if the mushrooms i was slicing
were too old to eat
if the eggs i cracked were bad
i cooked them up with confidence
adding them to my series
of experiments i've been running
like getting out of bed some days
trying to be nice to someone
who people might not try to be nice to
very often
this is one too

i take a moment to imagine two things
there's me in a lab coat
behind a plexiglass window
hanging in midair
with a clipboard
i watch myself do everthing
sometimes writing notes
there's a reader of this poem
holding a flimsy piece of paper
and they yawn

i am sitting down to try again
this is not an exciting story
the most exciting thing that happened
was shaving my beard
jaw line reappeared
a narrow face and pointed chin
a kept a black mustache
like an upside down u
i don't want to tell the things
that are exciting
they are better in person

this is an experiment
to tell how it is
sitting in the corner looking out
popping a balloon at a party
watching ripples of reaction
spread across the room
little jumps and somewhat wild looks
for something that can't be seen
i laughed hardest then
with a wide open mouth
stretching my new mustache
i laughed the hardest i had in weeks
having stored up reactions
to many things i found less than funny

the eggs and mushrooms disapear
-food is sometimes the greatest magician
i wish it wore black silk capes-
mixing in my stomach
with my dietary fiber
another experiment, with measurable results

this is an attempt at reassurance
after a slow start
with eyes in hollow caves
a bad taste in my mouth from business
if i call this an experiment
i cannot expect results
over my shoulder in a lab coat
i take notes
notice that yawn again