déshabille-toi! by Lisa Pasold

after Apparition by JKD

Alright the bar doesn't mean just because I was born here. I wish you didn't drink yet here I am with another beer in my hand. It's not exactly speech, coming back here, but good and tactile. god I love to drink, even with the usual wary, tender uncertainty of appearance in a phrasal universe. Yes, all those big words, for you in this parking lot, in this same small town you're haunting. I'm stripped of bearings, again, you ghost you. Syllabic but grounded with sensory inebriation. Where is this touch with its false demarcation? Your opposite of red, your skipping stones, your electric conviction to be judged wanting. Blank as that reproduction of me in-between image, imagined, veiled. Yes, I know the voice outside the window singing off-key Broadway songs, yes, I know, that voice is mine, professed, unmoored. And you, not arriving anywhere near the demographic of departure. The drinking might have been just a phase, if you'd had more time. A phrase, unverifiable. Most literal. So how come I now know all the words to this lyric?