These Psychic Fields

These Psychic Fields From the hotel window The city is a kaleidoscope Of blurred light In the bedroom mirror You voice your positive affirmation Once, and then twice The nightstand offers A torn pack of baseball cards And an empty bottle of Sapporo You watch another Twilight Zone Incredulous at the idea There’s two hours until tomorrow These psychic fields That connect you & me It has to be real Our gap in notoriety You feel like you are no one Not even worth the Strings I strum In the lounge there is a locker Left abandoned Tagged with graffiti Everyday you see a skull exploding While dining on your And memory There was a moment of momentum And then all the good luck Abruptly stopped They considered you for the picture Which was tinted and angled And you were unfortunately cropped Chorus You think about my life How you’d love to live in music And sleep on a tour bus You have one of mine Stuck in your head Specifically the chorus You daydream of wearing A leather jacket loaded With money and swagger When ponder living Someone else’s life The details never seem to matter Chorus Two men staring at the same city Only, from different Windows I am burden by the excess Of hope I carry While you nurse your thimble We both got drunk Couldn’t dream, even with A warm body in our bed Neither of us could touch The sudden snowfall upon All the living and the dead Chorus So, both of us wandered Out of our hotels Which were directly across the street It turns out Madison Avenue Is a perfect place for Strangers to meet We made eye contact, commented Mutually on the flurries, you joked about The shabby slippers on my feet Though you probably regretted never mentioning the album You once made Your humor before fate, Allowed me later to stop resisting sleep And fade Chorus Coda: What’s the worth of two men? One having more than the other Could we have been friends? Discussed both having a mother We separate ourselves, defined through Cause, career, and achievement We stare up at shadowy walls In the evening Having never really believed In any of it 1. Chorus