there is music on speakers & there are birds chirping in trees & somewhere within these songs, amidst their inherent celebration, their borderline euphoria, is everything else.


somewhere in these songs is the laughter on the school bus you were on the wrong side of


somewhere in these songs are the funerals you’ve been to & the funerals you’ll go to


somewhere in these songs are the picked-last-in-gym-class days; the failed math test days


somewhere in these songs is the karma you wrought from finding that envelope full of cash a few summers ago


somewhere in these songs is the shoulder you picked yourself up on last fall; that drew you a circle to spend a new year inside & then erased it by january when you couldn’t appreciate the sketch-work


somewhere in these songs is that awful semester you spent swimming at the bottom of the top of the world at its end


somewhere in these songs are the nervous tics you’ve nearly conquered, the shaky hands that will catch up with you one day, the grooves of the record in your phonographic memory that you’re still trying to spin in the other direction


to know the noises that bring you down exist within the sounds that uplift you—

that the bad is inherently buried within the good—

is to be granted the peace of mind

that the bad won’t take the good from you

that your songs cannot be drowned out by your feedback


they coexist; much like yourselves

hence this one-sided conversation

which is to say


you are always in conversation with yourself