Middle Adolescence

A radio plays, a song erupts

out of speakers that beat alongside my pulse.

All the mystery and the magic/

You light up what once was tragic…

And there I am again,

spiraling towards confusion

that is felt and heard and utterly visceral

To out East—burlesques of beaches,

sunburnt skin in splashing sand,

flip-flops slicing the quiet of Quogue,

as we ask Why is everybody so serious?/

Acting so damn mysterious

To the Village—surrendering to Sirens

I exalt, who glorify me.

Consuming Chelsea fares,

secondhand smoking as I proclaimed

You make me crazy/ you make me wiiii-iii-iild/

Just like a baby, spin me ‘round like a chiii-iii-iild…,

joining a cast that outnumbers patrons present.

To high school where the krovvy-red scenes

penned in ink were one with discussions

on Lange belting Bowie.

Tinted by throbbing spring staining our denim,

I cock a brow, shrug when you inquire if we’re alone.

I’m so in love with you/ I’ll be forever blue…

You knew the answer.

The power evoked by language and harmonies

is instantly placed on my stomach and soul.

I become vanquished.

Perhaps this cruel curse of emotion is a blessing?

I state this as a question,

I am unsure

myself.

Melodies mingle and are one with memories.

Bouts of brainworms define feelings and pull me back

violently

even as I clutch to objects that exist in

the present.

The past

is the place I want to be,

yet I force myself to think of anything but.

Songs have become difficult to listen to,

albums are untouchable,

for they take advantage,

so much so That…

I’ll never write a song/ Won’t even sing along…

And there I am again

Transported to a time

I did not realize was momentous until it was too late

To the years

I never would have thought I’d want to relive

Listening to the songs

that made me who I am today—

a chaser

of an ineffable harmony

that once was.

–Salvatore Casto