is not so much a song as a poem,

not so much a poem as poetry,

and if, and if, and if

it rhymes it's a riddle

but if it vinyl plays, it plays

with no sound, no woofer volume,

it plays not playing

and is never caged in recording;

elemental sound, silent movie sound,

you remember it every time

your body makes you dance.

is a song about love dressed

as all songs about love dress,

and cool pop teenagers want to fuck

to it in cars (small sweat/dice light)

and hang it on homecoming dance banners;

it's anthem crackling gap silence,

proud space, it's the small second noise

between sin and soundtrack --

it makes seventeen life carfucking

wholesome and large on big blue banners.

is come and get me song,

devil subway backward song,

it hangs on posters in KEEP OUT

rooms and is downloaded like porn

in suburb darkness -- MP3 format,

website-fire-screen-light of a song

about creases, ridges and holes;

shadow silhouette song, dangerous

unless marijuana high song,

cosmic e-song, precious future

noise song, it's the second song

ever played, the song after the first song.

is song the way a man's name is song,

an alley lung thank-you Jesus

horn mouthed, spit valve,

tongue prayer which piles dollar bills

in top hat collection plates;

it's song in suspenders

that gives up scotch to play

checkers with its grandkids --

no famous song, juke-box song,

Bandstand song -- but urban poor

and singing of hot Chicago pizza.

is a private searching song,

an ugly hymn of a song, desperate,

forgetful, it displaces you;

cry-on-a-Saturday-afternoon song,

it asks nothing, takes nothing,

and plays mono in florescent laundromats;

baby-blue fabric softener song

powder loud and quarter rich

it's circles and circles of dry, wet,

parted lips dancing without faces.

is song the way prayer is song,

the way psalm is song,

slow guitar with deep chords,

long voice hollow with a blue howl,

it's Jesus on the cross railroad good,

and it plays every midnight

(proud tune noon of night)

on National Public Radio

so that American road ears

can bend home

through the Cadillac fog

of lost gospels and harmonica tunes.