11 AM I’m on the porch drinking coffee, but you know that I’d rather be drinking double dog dare in the valley. I could call up my friends there and I know that they’d answer, but I’d much rather be way down on Main Street shaking it to Japanther. I remember the first time I went down there, I was 15, I took a shit in the park and I said “What the hell is this place? It freaks me out.” There’s no other place like it in this town. And then it was January and I’ve got to drive out to Clayton, but the snow’s piling up and I’m not sure if I’m gonna make it. So I stopped off in Browne’s and I parked my mom’s flivver and I ran down the stairs and shouted “Who wants to walk down to the river and watch the snowflakes fall?” And I didn’t feel cold at all. The next time you see me I’ll be shouting from the bridge and you’ll say “What’s with the ruckus? What the fuck, I think it’s Mitch.” and I’ll be older and smarter and wearing a dress, and I’ll be clutching a thousand pieces of paper to my chest, and all your new friends and neighbors will probably think I’m insane, they’ll say “who in the hell is that, how does he know your name?” and I’ll say “best friends I’m so glad to be back in town,” and then I’ll let loose the papers and we’ll watch them float down, and they’ll be colored and tiny; one with a sonnet and the other 999 each with a rocketship on it, but you probably won’t be able to tell, and every little cell in my body will be well

Everything is frozen until I turn away, red light, green light all day. You are not the person that I thought you were. It’s frustrating as hell fishing in a well, and I’m feeling the same, all of these games have gotten me no thing. Everything is ugly until I fall asleep, and sure my dreams are lovely, but they scare the hell out of me. For I cannot control the things my mind creates. And it’s frustrating as hell fishing in a well, I have been defeated, I stated what I needed and no one said anything. It’s boring as hell wishing in a well, but I’m going all in, in hopes that my skin will finally scale over. We’ll all die lizards and fakes, I don’t trust you, but I love you I think.

That’s my cup of tea on the table “steeping”, I think that’s what they call it. I can’t wait till it’s done so I can drink it and then brew another. That’s my cup of tea, you can have some if you want some. It’s nice and black, but not too strong. The leaves were given to my by a friend. And if you like my cup of tea, I can brew you a cup of your own. But it’s not up to me to call it yours, that’s something that you’ll have to do alone. And you can say “ That’s my cup of tea, you can have a sip but it’s kind of hot so be careful. That’s my cup of tea, a friend of mine brewed it for me.” There’s two cups of tea on the table. Yours is in a Bfoods mug, mine is in a Christmas cup. There’s two cups of tea on the table, soon those cups will be empty

Try to locate what we need/mixing black white red and green/taking what’s inside of me/pollinate “the ugly tree.” Where’d you get that little spark? I haven’t seen one that bright in awhile. Want to leave? Go right ahead. Everyone else here is dead. Mixing gold with fizzy black and “Hey, I thought you swore it off? But you know I understand.” Fall asleep, wake up again. We belong here understand, but I haven’t seen it written on the palm of your right hand like it is on everyone’s here. Want to stay? That’s fine by me. We can go toss “the ugly stick” around until we’re tired. And when you start feeling dead you can lay your swollen head down on my trundle bed, and I will cover you up

Hanging out in a bathroom stall just sitting staring at the wall. I wonder where the time has gone, it’s been 3 days without the sun. And everything is standing still: the moon, the stars, the sky, and all the animals and bicycles, cars and trucks and people. None of it can be set loose until I run out of orange juice, but my thoughts are free to roam, they got me here and they’ll get me home. The wall is freshly painted, just waiting for some kid like me to taint it. I could put something down for fun to get whitewashed when the week is done, or hang out till winter ends and paint a portrait of all my friends. Once a week I would call my mom and try to convince her that there’s nothing wrong, but someone’s on the intercom and they say “Gather your belongings, this establishment is closing. Thanks for coming in tonight, we open tomorrow at 9 in the morning.” Where have my thoughts all gone? I’ll gather them up and then get on. Sometimes they leave me all alone, but they got me here and they’ll get me home.

So I’ll sing a song for Portland, Oregon and one for Portland, Maine. For no matter where I lay my head I’m restless still the same. And I’m sorry, mother, that I live 2,000 miles away. I love you and I miss you and I’ll be back home someday

It feels like summer in the middle of November. I gotta get up, out, feel better. Here’s one for the records. But I’m so hungover, gotta drink that water down. I’m gonna walk all over town and stomp my blues into the ground. But I’ll never tell you what I did that day, it will always be a mystery, and the words I forgot to say could never fix this mess I’ve made. Feeling like a flapjack that’s bubbling in the center. Red rover, red rover, quick come flip me over. William, I think this is farewell. I’d say see “you ‘round”, but I think I’m going underground. It’s nice to hear you singing, but you know it hurts my feelings when you build me up just to let me down. Maybe some sunday you’ll bump into me at Kroger. Cart filled with canned goods, heart made out of wood, and you’ll say “Hey Mitch, won’t you come and see my band play?” and I’ll say “Would if I could, but I won’t be around.” No, I’ll be across town shining my shoes under the ground

The lights become clearer now/it’s not much to talk about/oh, saturday again/get me out of my skin. We think we’ve got it figured out again. How could it ever be any other way? But I won’t have any of it. Will the bullshit sink in this time, and will I start thinking with my mind? Not with my ass sunk into your thighs, closing my drunken dancing smoky basement eyes. And we know we’ve got it figured out again. How could it ever be any other way? But I won’t have any of it.

3:30 at the park alone, pull up the grass make a new home. Everybody gets down, everybody does. The winter wind went off and froze all of the hair inside my nose, everybody gets down, everybody does. As I catch my rubber ball, throw it right back against the wall, it sure beats watching the grass grow, swing out your arm and just let go. Put my foot in my mouth for fun, everybody gets down, everybody does, and I don’t believe in love. Wanted to feel something that hurt, stamped my head down in the dirt, said “I don’t think it’s gonna work.” When the lunch break has begun walk down “the ave” a couple blocks, said “here’s a dollar and some change, sing me the same song that I requested yesterday.” Because I wish I was born 1000 years ago, and I wish I’d sailed the darkened seas on a great big clipper ship, going from this land here to that, wearing a sailor suit and cap. And I guess that I just don’t know, but everybody gets down, everybody does, and I don’t believe in love. Oh no, he’s doing it again, another 6 pack of tall cans, everybody gets down, everybody does. Don’t know what’s real, can’t tell what’s fake, everybody gets down everybody does. Punched my friends right in the face, kissed their lips and said that “I’m so glad that we’re buds, but everybody gets down, everybody does, and I don’t believe in love.” Leaving the 700 club, too drunk to bike I think I’ll walk “Zech Scott, make sure he gets home safe, did what we could to make him stay.” Got an itch along the way, said “later Zech, I’ll be ok. I’m feeling strange, I gotta run.” Went and layed in the street for fun. Sometimes I live in the country, and sometimes I live in town. Sometimes I take a great notion to drown.