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This morning the sun blazed through the car windows
and the radio served up, “Don’t waste your time on me,
you’re already a voice inside my ‘ead” (no, not head
Tom DeLonge cannot pronounce words like a human),
and I was transported back to fifteen years ago when you
were ten, grinning in the backseat of a rented convertible
as the three of us drove to Volcanoes National Park in Hawaii,
the sun beating on our heads as we sang along with Blink,
already your favorite band, and the weather was perfect
after months of Chicago cold and the air swirled around us
and the music made the car come alive with all three of our
voices, loud and sailing across the strange landscape
of black rock, and if there is any kind of chance that I could
feel that carefree again, I would take it because these days,
the angel from my nightmare has taken up permanent
residence on my shoulder just like the Blink smiley face
has taken up residence in ink on your tricep and this angel
is heavy and the eyes of that smiley face were always dead x’s,
weren’t they? and when I hear your voice, deep and grown,
laughing on the other end of the phone, I can only think
how much I miss you miss you.