Graveyard Of Your Favorite Songs

I spent the weekend making coffee rings
on an old desk and keeping the lights dim.
To occupy my eyes I cracked the few
remaining mp3 folders
of my dead friends.

None of them were organizers
and their libraries consisted mostly
of single playlists labeled simply
with their names.

It didn’t take more than an hour
to duplicate them all within
my own screen.
I took frequent breaks to pace
before the star shaped window
in the loft where it made sense
to be the only one around.

Now I listen to Cameron
when I’m running late
and the birds are crowding
the wires because the air
is so much heavier
than it used to be.

Or sometimes I’ll put on
Layla when I’m drinking
lemonade with vodka,
and the acidity is the sunlight
washing over me.

When I get pissed off
at a mistake I’ve made
and there isn’t enough
road to run away from it.
I’ll play some Jake
and redirect it at the fact
I never got to show him
I am better at most everything.

When it is cold out
I will always turn to Trisha
and remember how
her blue eyes never
gave in to my nonsense.
Her body in that frozen lake
is still a nightmare
I would pick
over the rest of them.

I’m convinced now
our generation
will have the sharpest memory
in our old age.
We make things permanent
without trying,
like a footprint
in fresh concrete,
and they remind us
of the best tracks
left to listen to.

It doesn’t make up
for me missing you,
but I could not forget
a moment if I wanted to.