Georgia and Cowboy Landin Eldridge

At the time, I thought There was nothing left to say About the moon. Keep in mind, I was sleeping On an air mattress. An air mattress was all I had To come home to.

You were gone, So a friend came to stay with me. A hospital friend. I was nostalgic for that place. Maybe I missed being taken care of. Maybe I was remembering wrong. Memories are words That mean a something different Every time they are transcribed.

We got off in Adams Morgan And had to walk across a bridge With no water under it. Metaphors are bridges sometimes. I am too drunk. The room was like an imaginary chapel Where no one says a word, They just listen attentively And believe in damnation. A voice wove in and out Of the histories waiting in that room. The synths bled droplets of sound Into the air.

The show didn’t last forever. When it was done, I waited for him. He said the dog on the album cover Belonged to his friend. He said he was more of a Cat person.

Outside I smoked one of those Useless hemp cigarettes That my friend bought Just for the ritual, And I watched as people Lined up to be made strange In her light. We missed the last metro. The moon looked like everything.