I played connect the dots with your beauty marks and I ended up with picture perfect sheet music. I read your musical notes with a composer's eyes and heard our song for the first time. My spine is still tingling. Mental images of your fine tune is what I've been nodding my head to lately and every now and then you can catch me humming your nudity under my heavy breath. I heavily suggest you resurrect your ancient, neglected dust-collector if you distrust the dissonance in my seldom plucked heart strings. Sit stripped before your full length mirror. Perform your reflection backwards. Maybe then you’lll understand the rhythm in my movement. Listen when the news is sent. Because it’s then when the rules are bent. I’ll be waiting to take your lead. Make me a victim of your two step. Make me an apprentice of your body parts. Teach me the dance to your beauty marks. I’m stepping on toes here and I don’t care. It’s hopeless. It’s hopelessness. It's hopelessness holding this openness to blow a kiss so close your lips but don't get pissed and throw a fist at this vocalist. I'm not emotionless. In fact I broke my wrist when I wrote the list of all those I miss. This is my poker face. Mr. Feel Nothing
credits
from Personal Journals,
released April 16, 2002
Recorded live at Lupo's Heartbreak Hotel in Providence, RI (2000)