MODERN FLORA LYRICS

If Spring Comes Like They Say

The retreat left a bad taste in my mouth, which was mostly blood.

I had to bribe Sarah’s locksmith brother to retrieve my phone.

Felled by the rain, the light, fragrant rain, I showed late again.

I had to plead for some extra credit just to save my C.

No surprise, my fatigue-induced conversion didn’t take.

Now I have second thoughts about selling the car.

But if spring comes like they say, I’ll reconcile with the super and brush up my Spanish.

If spring comes like they say.

I can’t hear you, Sarah, “These Foolish Things” are drifting with dryer exhaust from the basement unit.

It’s substandard here, Sar, cancel the U-Haul. It’s substandard here, Sar, rescind your resignation.

You keep me up at night, still, I need some Ambien.

And we’re both gettin’ old. Hell, I’m Precambrian.

Can we talk more about it later? Maybe we’ll understand it then.

Can we talk later?

It matters a lot, she said, it matters to me, and it matters to you,

but it doesn’t really matter at all, no, it doesn’t matter at all

Well, I guess mean everything, she said, how it matters to me, and it matters to you,

but it doesn’t really matter at all, and you have to keep both those things in mind.

And I think she was right about that—that night we rarely agreed—

But I think she was right how it matters a lot, but doesn’t really matter at all.

Importa mucho, pues, me importa a mi, y te importa a ti,

pero no importa nada, no importa nada.

If spring comes like they say

If spring comes like they say …

The Head of a Dog

There’s an anthill and a mountain peak

A waterfall, a faucet leak

More than one way to stop or start

There’s a crib sheet on the internet

A gumball dime in your mortgage debt

More than one way to fall apart

There’s a faux pas and a war crime

Homeric epics and nursery rhymes

There’s more than one way to break my heart

More than one way to keep from dyin’

I’ll be the head of a dog, you be the tail of a lion

You got your bank vault and your Master lock

Champagne and chicken stock

More than one way to stop or start

White kid gloves, a catcher’s mitt

Easy spares and seven-ten splits

More than one to fall apart

A gold Montblanc, a Bic ballpoint

A fine steak house, a burger joint

More than one way to break my heart

More than one way to keep from cryin’

I’ll be the head of a dog, you be the tail of a lion

I’ll play a cocktail lounge or a rodeo

A Steinway B, a Casio

There’s more than one way to stop or start

Yeah, we learned a few grooves and we wrote a few hooks

Know a few numbers like the Kelley Blue Book

There’s more than one way to fall apart

I can plié, I can Cabbage Patch

Set the town ablaze with a safety match

I’ll find a way to break my heart

There’s more than one way to keep from dyin’

I’ll be the head of a dog, you be the tail of a lion

The Unicellular Spore

You were the ocean I sailed on

The highway under my Dodge

The pine-needle trail that wrapped ’round the hillside

And led to your ancestral lodge

And you were the breeze through my window

The dust on the blades of my fan

The wren on the rail of my Grand Canyon snapshot

The shadow on my CT scan

And you were the tireless roofer

Pounding in shingles next door

The massive orange star that ruddled my bald spot

The unicellular spore

The unicellular spore

The unicellular spore

I was a snowflake on velvet

But I felt like Pete Townsend’s guitar

The day-breaking hiss of a flattened bike tire

The clang on that old trolley car

And I was the post-T-ball juicebox

Later, the whiskey and dope

I, the pragmatic documentarian

Green-lighting the postscript of hope

And I was the tireless roofer

Pounding in shingles next door

The massive orange star that melted your ice cream

The unicellular spore

The unicellular spore

The unicellular spore

All Thumbs

At that first party, you said, you were ignored half the night, a check-engine light.

But what’s missing from the metaphor is the world’s recklessness,

’cause you’re not dangerous like an engine is.

Once, I watched an engine burn my van to its frame.

If not for John, I wouldn’t’ve had a coat that weekend.

And you’d’ve done that, too, gone in for the coat while I hugged my knees in the

ditch outside o’ Lincoln.

The tow-truck driver said, the toe-truck driver said, “Which one of you clowns owns this barbecue pit?”

And I hope it’s not too soon to say this, but I loved you yesterday

In your daffodil sweater.

Coming to the theater five minutes late

Can’t sit through a double feature, but I love a two-movie night.

Later on, lusting together after Monty Clift, all right.

Montgomery Clift in his cowboy suit, shooting at cans.

Montgomery Clift in his cowboy suit, shooting at cans, yeah!

You’ve switched up my flow.

Like a thumb over a hose, like a thumb over a hose, like a thumb over a hose.

Like the DJ cross-fading to Turntable B. See the semi-adolescent “B” magic-markered on a jagged square of masking tape?

It’s funny, you said, how our script changes even well into adulthood.

Once I watched an engine burn my van to its frame.

But I told you that. I remember now, I told you that. I told you that. But I told you that.

Now I’m talking in circles like the white spirals on the balls of your feet.

And I like how you move through the world, as if on the balls of your feet.

Not photographing misspelled shop-window signs.

Not cursing the Jeep that almost mowed you down.

Not raising your fist from the mountaintop.

Till your arm falls right off your shoulder blade.

Till your arm falls right off, right off, your shoulder blade.

You switched up my flow, that’s the main thing, how you switched up my flow

Like a thumb over a hose, like a thumb over a hose, a thumb over a hose.

I don’t wanna crowd you, but now we’ve reached our three-month anniversary, I’m starting to use my normal speaking voice more often when we’re together. Have you detected this change?

AIRPORT SPARROWS LYRICS

Instead of This

Instead of this, you could be sitting S-shaped in a study carrel, looking through old Sandusky phone books for villainous names. Or fishing off the riverbank, not for sport, or lying face down in a culvert, your khaki shirt stuck to your back by still-damp blood.

So, it’s not so bad.

Am I wearing my sunglasses?

Okay, I had a few other questions.

Can you hover like a kingfisher? Can you hover like a kingfisher?

Can you hover like a kingfisher, then perch on a reed, gulping, while I adjust my aperture?

Can you laugh more heartily at my jokes? Can you strive to make your laughter infectious?

Can you get me outta this place?

Can you collate my fragments?

Can you draw clouds on my Trapper Keeper with a gold glitter Sharpie?

When you cosign the lease, will you use the Black Sabbath font?

Will you relieve me of my duties? Will you relieve me of my duties?

Can you hover like a kingfisher?

Can you hover like a kingfisher like I said before?

Can you hover like a kingfisher?

Can you hover like a kingfisher like I said before?

Instead of this, you could be fishing off the riverbank, with makeshift bait. So, it’s not so bad.

Can you call me? Can you call me back? Can you call me?

At this number or at my ma’s house

Can you call me?

Call me back.

The Weather on Your Side

I used to be the older brother

And I abused the upper hand

I made you keep my secrets

Dished out more than you could stand

But I tried, you know I tried

To atone for all my sins

Anyway, you oughta thank me, you really oughta thank me

Probably thickened up your skin

You beat the rain, you had the weather on your side

You got the moon to pull some strings about the tide

You floated all the way from heaven back home

All the way from heaven back home

You shrink from my resentment

And from my faith and poverty

You know, our father would’ve hated

That condescending eulogy

All right, I tried, I’ll shut up

I’ll let you circulate

Y’always had what the world wanted

Me, what the town would tolerate

You beat the rain, you had the weather on your side

You got the moon to pull some strings about the tide

You floated all the way from heaven back home

All the way from heaven back home

You beat the rain, you had the weather on your side

You got the moon to pull some strings about the tide

You floated all the way from heaven back home

All the way from heaven back home

I Ain’t Forgotten You

I don’t recall the origins of all these scrapes and dents

And at present I can’t name the Secretary of Defense

Nor all my grade-school teachers, though some faces come to mind

And everything they taught us, I left half of that behind

I rarely call on birthdays, no one expects me to

But I’d love to ring next Wednesday, I ain’t forgotten you

Now, last year’s Oscar winner is slow to leave my tongue

And I’ve retained only the rudiments from The Portable Carl Jung

I even forget how old I am, I know it starts with five

Sometimes, they say, I hurt myself just to feel alive

In sickness and in health, I don’t reliably come through

But I’ll be waiting at the ER, I ain’t forgotten you

I remember you with snowflakes on your eyelashes

Teardrops mingling with your wine

I remember loaning you five thousand dollars

But I said I wouldn’t bring it up this time

When I swam the River Lethe, I forgot to bring a towel

When I spell the word liaison, I often drop a vowel

I once forget my manners at a Bloomington blood bank

And when they ask me for my password, I tend to draw a blank

Ah, but unlike Bernie Taupin, I distinguish green from blue

Anyway, your eyes are hazel, I ain’t forgotten you

I still remember Fonzie and Schwinn banana seats

And the photographs from Jonestown, how I couldn’t get to sleep

And that trip to Devil’s Tower, where we both sensed the sublime

And the smell of the cellophane on Sign o’ the Times

Well, tonight I played that record, when we bought it, it was new

And you were there in every pop and click, I ain’t forgotten you

Yeah, tonight I played that record, when we bought it, it was new

And you were there in every pop and click, I ain’t forgotten you

Carson City

All of us are living in Carson City

And all of us will die in or from Carson City

Most of us have done more to aggravate, than mitigate

Problems stemming from Carson City, yeah

Hell yeah, Carson City

Did’ja get that shirt there?

I’ll bet you paid a bundle

The sleeves are too short, but I like it like that

Boyish, I’d say, not simian

All of us are living in Carson City

And all of will die in or from Carson City

Sure, it’s hard to picture some collective act, some binding pact

Equal to the force of Carson City

Stay Strong, Carson City

I was born there, you know. That hardly makes me expert

On Carson City, or anything

So when I say, An apt degree of self-sacrifice, if narrowly shared, just might feel like insanity

You could say, What do you know of self-sacrifice?

And repeat for emphasis, What do you know of  sacrifice?

All you really know is sighing inertia, temporizing greed, Ativan and weed

All of us are living in Carson City

And all of use will die in or from Carson City

Everything we try should be compassionate, not trivial

Salves and solutions re: the sins of Carson City

Hell yeah, Carson City

Last night I spent a month in Carson City

Last night I spent a month in Carson City

Last night I spent a month in Carson City

Last night I spent a month in Carson City …

I’m Not What I Was

I can eat my Lorna Doones on chilly Monday afternoons

But I’m still hungry in my dream

Bisect my Oreos while the gnats hover and the streetlamp glows

But I can’t even taste the cream

There go the sirens

Here comes the fuzz

You save yourself, my friend

I’m not what I was

I’m not what I was

I can shave my face, put on perfume, raise a glass in a rented room

But there’s a bloodstain on the collar of my shirt

Post my shot to Instagram with the barbecue grill and the whole fam

But I’ll still be lonely come dessert

There go the sirens

Here comes the fuzz

You save yourself, my friend

I’m not what I was

I got up too early, I’m on Mountain Time, plus I’m in a mood and I’m in decline

I hear last night in your voice

Recoil at leisure, repent in haste, I fear your faith has been misplaced

Can I help you make an informed choice?

There go the sirens

Here comes the fuzz

You save yourself, my friend

I’m not what I was

I’m not what I was

Happiness

Well, I cried over some broken bones, and I cried ’cause I was sad

I cried at old Fassbinder and a Maxwell House ad

You know I cried for Patches with pa on his death bed

And in Psych class I cried for Phineas Gage with a rail spike in his head

Play “The Last Time I Saw Richard,” once again you’ll see my crying

It’s the coffee percolator that gets me every time

I don’t cry at dog films, some kind of lachrymal gap

But I cry sometimes remembering our baby in your lap

Now it might be my party, but I ain’t Lesley Gore

Still, it seems with every birthday, I cry a little more

I have cried for the worst reasons, and I’ve cried for the best

Someday I’m gonna cry again out of happiness

I can cut myself off like a conservationist

Then I cry for the catharsis I so foolishly missed

Even when it’s private, it’s like I’m on the job

And I just can’t seem to break out in full-blown sob

Now, sometimes I cry so subtle that it’s hard to detect

Other times I gotta push it, you know, to get the right effect

Self-penned wedding vows, I cry without fail

And I cry over the crowd at a going-out-of-business sale

Now it might be my party, but I ain’t Lesley Gore

Still, it seems with every birthday, I cry a little more

I have cried for the worst reasons, and I’ve cried for the best

Someday I’m gonna cry again out of happiness

Someday I’m gonna cry again out of happiness

Random File

If you’d only wait awhile, I could be the one

Be that one you need

Just open my random file, I might be that one

Ghost Blog

To repeat, it’s all on my ghost blog

Maybe that’s not quite the phrase

I’m all alone here

There’s some talk of you on my ghost blog

Our misremembered love

A sandpaper glove

Smoothing out the rough parts in our dreams

Our heels clicking past the Seine

Like two retractable pens

Our coats comin’ apart at the seams

I guess I still pay for my ghost blog

Maybe I should let it slide

I’m all alone here

Never read the comments on my ghost blog

It’s all misremembered love

A sandpaper glove

Smoothing out the rough parts in our dreams

Our heels clicking past the Seine

Like two retractable pens

Our coats comin’ apart at the seams

Our misremembered love

A sandpaper glove

Smoothing out the clichés in our dreams

Our heels clicking past the Seine

Like two retractable pens

Our coats comin’ apart at the seams

The Flanks

Look how I grip the bullhorn

Atop the brown Renault

There’s my fedora on the Pettis Bridge

Sixth or seventh row

Fearless on the front lines, humble on the flanks

I put spanners ’tween the clock-gears, roses in the tanks

Yeah, but it wasn’t all purity

I made a little green

I wrote “Friends in Low Places” in a Grand Forks Hardee’s

Before I turned seventeen

Became a backstage panjandrum of the heartland mainstream

Bought my mother a small island and a Triple-A baseball team

Now, I can’t live in the moment

And I don’t like the future’s forecast

So I walk around this milfoil lake

Dreaming my heroic past

In truth I’s missing from the front lines, feckless on the flank

Chained to my tiny orbit like a ballpoint pen at the bank

I’m not asking for absolution, and I don’t deserve your thanks

Just use me on the front lines, or place me on the flanks

Reduce Me to Ashes

Reduce me to ashes with a cold-hearted glance

Spur on your steed, sharpen your lance

See that my grave is unmarked and unkempt

Remind my survivors of your boundless contempt

Don’t trust in fate, leave nothing to chance

Reduce me to ashes with a cold-hearted glance

Reduce me to ashes like an old vengeful god

Spread me around, lay down the sod

I’m the romantic incense you burned alone Sunday night

I’m a scrap of the Sports page, I’m a bummed Camel Light

Send home the hangman, call off the firing squad

Just reduce me to ashes like an old vengeful god

Someone sleeping in the backseat, it might be a child

The driver laughs, but not with a smile

Reduce me to ashes before you decamp

Clap me off like a TV bedside lamp

I’ve skimmed the report, the end might be near

It’s been a nice ride, ah, but I’ll get off here

Don’t trouble to issue no commemorative stamp

Just reduce me to ashes before your decamp

Turn off the iron, hey, turn up my amp

Reduce me to ashes, reduce me to ashes, reduce me to ashes

Before you decamp

Airport Sparrows

[Bird language]

Don’t Ask for the Moon

Those salad days

When you believed

You were on the rise

There were some nights

Cheap Chardonnay nights

We romanticize

Hey, don’t ask for the moon, now

We still got all these stars in our eyes

A dime for your thoughts

I’ll overpay

I’m growing unwise

Tell me the truth

But don’t be afraid

To euphemize

And don’t ask for the moon, now

We still got all these stars in our eyes

The world was our oyster, but all those pearls

were the wrong shape and size

So at this late juncture, in lieu of a plan

May I ask you to improvise?

If you return

Defrocked and disgraced

And fear your demise

I’ll be your blue angel

Watch from the wings

I’ll idolize

Hey, don’t ask for the moon, now

We still got all those stars in our eyes

Hey, don’t ask for the moon, babe

We still got all these stars in our eyes