Notes

Dear "long, dark hair", I write cause I know you'll forget You could be sea-green in a waste basket tomorrow No repulsions for My premature indulgences If you cant recall a word I said Not like those cheek bones, That crooked nose No, those fellas stick around too long Perpetuate in every pathetic word That I askew into song She was my trophy shelf of slip-ups My untamed, hormonal, acne shit show On late night rotation for months on end A brick-boot swimming lesson In the deep end of my adolescence Scrawling notes on the backs of my hands But I'll start fresh with you Extracting the rusted attachments Keeping the die-hard nuts, bolts and screws We'll go from square one with the wit of an old pro And you can fill in the gaps with whatever you know My "long, dark hair" --- Notes - Modern Baseball