<< LRL 7
from daryl hall is my boyfriend
by erica lewis

sometimes she’s here and sometimes she can’t be found*

that children do not distinguish between living
and inanimate objects

i thought [i promised] i would harbor no more sad refuse or broken toys

salt prints of forgotten poets

                /but not all of the words are true

but do you not think so far ahead

of things/as if we could plug up the hole to let    other experiences in

and once you admit time past is      [actually]    infinite
being a child gradually fades away

do it all backwards and what do you get

calling and confusion/ i  love/ to read the words but don’t hear god in them

                  the whooshing sound of air blowing air/ something in the head [sounds like
broken glass]

                                                  / roller coasters and my mother used to say a penny for
your thoughts

so it took a long time for the songs to appear and then once they appeared it took a really long

time to make them what they are

[starting from nothing with nothing when everything       [refracts everything else]

the way we reach and reach but [can] never touch

          a skinny covering overspreads our bones and we think we can fly

*“las vegas turnaround” a.k.a. “the stewardess song”

there ain’t no right or wrong way just a play from the heart*

i wear my garment so it shows

don’t know why just where it’s been/ to be something about a black

       too young to know the score/


statistics tell us we’ll see the stars again

i've forgotten just the buttons to push to make this radio play. think of nostalgia from far away
think of writing maps to get there. /          the landscape of decades
                                                                                    /to kiss me all the time

will pursue[s] a sound / a direction until it triggers and you’re chasing some other [distant]
through gritted teeth]

momentum without character

and i can sit and talk, because i was just like you / so arrogant and brave, impetuous and blue

there is a radius of deep water
 sometimes burned into you far more than whatever
                                                                                            [comes later]

          and we are desperate boys and girls and we need to ask our             what to say

and we are desperate boys and girls and we need to stop and ask are we too

i’m trying to say that everyone wants to go

when i shut my eyes

you are lovely and still missing so many things

*“do what you want, be what you are”

what can i say, i don’t feel the need to give such secrets away*

i saw you yesterday and you weren’t very good

your wound distracted me [which was salvation]

a million tiny splinters

                                                       when I was a kid, there would be lots of storms   thunder
and lightning would knock the trees down

But no, wait, some driftwood.

and these are parts of chords that resolve things and tie a bow, and others that keep things open
and unanswered.

and what i've got to say isn't new/so i'll use this old tune.          about how all of us are
just coping with each other because we love each other

                                        you make fun of the lines.

but if you wanted a song, you could just write one

                              but i knew it wasn't going to last forever, it just wasn't the right time
to care

because at the end of the day, it was still the same equation:          me in a room


     seventy two beats a minute        [a train]

          to capture the things that are so obvious   no one notices them

and maybe knowing it was happening
would make us both more certain of our feelings [so we should be holding hands]
                              and this changes everything

though i prefer the old transitions

A mouthful of bees          whispering,
[to not have the wind blow back in our faces]

*“kiss on my list”

the shades all around aren’t the colors we used to see*

                      /a love letter to the joie de vivre

all my childhood pop stars are dead

you may also have felt the pang in your heart

                                                         the bonds we form in childhood, whose haunting
power we recover at our own risk

whispering it in your ear too,     somehow, you can dance to it.

because that dissonant sound was all I could make.
                                                                                                                                  . That's
the history of all music,

It never comes out. The feeling

                                             gasps of blue
                                             for sky,

          There ought to be a word
                    that suggests
how we’re balanced at the very tip
and behind us

                                                                           we felt as children
that we can never have again.

                                                                           sitting with my mother's letters,     her
handwriting                           -- you know she took so much care and time to write them

                                             and that’s all i think about

          how our lives can
be summed up and
          i’m not okay.

          because what we’re nostalgic for is an intensity /Here, god,
                                                                 things are sweet & strange &
unknowably intense
                                                  just sort of staggers me.

*“out of touch”

the ways and means are the parts subject to change*

            what we didn’t get then we get now

not by the accuracy of our memories but by our willingness to question them

                                                                                all these mirrors/say something.

These are the things that were beautiful in my life.

My aunts told wonderful stories.                                           We had a very strong family. My
mother’s sisters loved each other intensely. The uncles loved each other intensely. Those were the
days when it meant something

Now it’s impossible to go back to these places because they’re not there anymore. My generation,
                                                                                                                All they say is,
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
                                               there’s just hurt all over                    because there’s no place
to go home to.

i also meant that on an emotional level                 we have to skirt around
             in order to function. in order to process          we can't dwell               i don't mean that
in a we're all so damaged kind of way, just that if we stay

[                                   touching the glass]

[                                   the sound goes unheard]

                                                         this is my experience.

"We live in a generation of not being in love and not being together”

                                    I think I'm perpetually going to be in that wounded    faux-wounded,
                                                       the white noise.     the background music.

this is the beginning of the record you like

*“method of modern love”


Stream the mixtape using the controls below, or click here to download the entire mixtape.


erica lewis lives in San Francisco where she is a fine arts publicist. Her work has appeared in various journals and anthologies. Books include the precipice of jupiter (Queue Books) and camera obscura (BlazeVox Books), both collaborations with artist Mark Stephen Finein, and murmur in the inventory, just out from Shearsman Books (January 2013). Chapbooks include excerpts from camera obscura (EtherDome Press) and excerpts from murmur in the inventory (Ypolita Press). She was born in Cincinnati, Ohio.

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