Letterbox 10/2/88 (after They Might Be Giants)

She’ll never know what she’ll find
When she opens up her letter box tomorrow
‘Cause a big bunny tells me everything I want to know
Except about Grandma Death, Roberta Sparrow
And I’ll never never know
All the things I never never never want to know
Even though I’m Donnie Darko

Since I can see the effervescent chest tubes showing paths though time
I can know the future but still forgot I was gonna shoot my spirit guide
Smack dead in the middle of his eye
I should’ve have talked with you about The Philosophy of Time, shouldn’t I?
Would’ve that worked out fine?

Living Receiver is my new job it’s crazy so there’s no time for sorrow
In my hoodie find a vortex in the sky to die smiling yesterday’s tomorrow

She’ll never know what she’ll find
When she opens up her letter box tomorrow
‘Cause a big bunny tells me everything I want to know
Except about Grandma Death, Roberta Sparrow
And I’ll never never know
All the things I never never never want to know
Even though I’m Donnie Darko

Donnie Darko turns 20 this year…and They Might Be Giants is timeless.

Letterbox 10/2/88 (after They Might Be Giants)

On the pleasures of being lied to

dreams of cinemas and churches and
where the people once were – empty
now we fill the spaces between spaces
countless coughs in crammed corridors
attentions misdirected by magic words
earth salted, unsowable
incongruous truths, convenience be damned
give me liberty or give us death
silver screens absent of light motions, horror worship

a patriot once whispered
upon her deathbed
to anyone listening,
still trying to understand
the things patriots say,
“you must know that
the child of freedom
is responsibility.
you must know that
freedom is a razor.”

On the pleasures of being lied to

Utnapishnim, whom the gods made immortal

Dream, always in dream, the past

The past returns, for me to change

And shape into a new future

At eight years old, I didn’t stick up

For dirty Benji Brown

At night, my eyes go wild

And I help him fight the fifth graders

He asks if we can be friends

At night, afloat, I smile and tell him thanks for asking

At sixteen years old, I wanted it so bad

So often and with everyone

At night, my lids tremble

And I take it slow and with curiosity

I make it like a sacred circle of trees

At night, under covers, with the bedroom windows open, it’s holy

At twenty-four years old, I thought I knew death

Was sure it had something to do with ego

At night, my temp drops

And I only hope to wake up in balance

And still breathing

At night, surrounded by pillows, I imagine life free of measurement and rulers

Dream, always in dream, the past

The past awaits, to shape me

Into these unknown, bifurcated futures

Utnapishnim, whom the gods made immortal