spasmodic stats

i remember this time last year
it was right after i got rejected from brown duke columbia
after i spent the winter of 2009 furiously applying to phd programs
the mantra was duke or bust after a certain rhythm
i appreciated the novelty of the bar a lot
someone always took pictures

i thought i'd always love the way you smelled
i thought i'd be somebody regionally famous
i thought i'd have my last summer in ann arbor
i thought i'd drink pitcher, pitcher, pitcher

before the grace period, part of my youth expired
my biggest concern was how to eat an avocado
which graphic novel to read
whether i could finish proust
whether i could get a ride to detroit
whether i could comment poignantly on twin peaks

summer of endless games

whether you'd be in town was of
the utmost crawling sensation that involved
walking to the liquor store brusquely

godddamnnnit 5000 people have read this since then
how can i be a living writer and have no idea
who are these people

i still have to make punk ass conversation
i still have to calmly set my alarm and proceed to work in a forthright fashion
i still have to stand still in smarmy basements
i still have to write poetry that everyone thinks is about them
but it's only ever been meaningful uniquely to me

and now where am i supposed to go
so ann arbor was for friends
so new york was for theory
so california is for money
this space is place