Nate Slawson

A BATTLEFIELD CALLED STREETCORE

 

 

Outside I am trembling my heart is amplified and guitar-strung the space between

 

us is convulsive at least three times a day I hear myself singing to myself

 

THE TEMPERATURES ARE RISING     the reality is our human siphoning

 

my wallpaper glued to your wallpaper in a collage of DNA     I think don’t think

 

blackoutdon’t thinkblackout there is a light filling up my socks and light is endless

 

light is Joe Strummer circa everyday     an impossibly funny feeling

 

in my battlefield my battlefield is nonsense I call it my heart a flamethrower

 

of nonsense tied to the back of a bus     Sometimes we risk taking ourselves

 

too seriously     like we are fat leather books labeled The Best Thing Ever when

 

all we should do is go to bed and be terrific ridiculously terrific and as heartbroken

 

as broken hearts     we should drink chocolate milk and pull explosions out of

 

each other’s hair we should turn our hearts up to rocket and sound system our

 

existence     because we are wailing our faces off for love wailing into the astonished

 

sky THE SPIRIT IS OUR GASOLINE and it feels good to take my head off

 

 

once in awhile it makes me want to build a newer world in the bedroom

 

a newer world where we cram sunlight into our eyes and the sunlight blasts merrily

 

merrily out of our mouths     we are so ecstatic that we’re gasping gasping and blue-

 

berry beside the record player dancing a new dance we call The Streets Are

 

Burning     because if we are not a levee and the music is not love what chance

 

do we have of keeping our hearts up? because it’s our hearts that float outward

 

to the sea our hearts enormous life vests strapped to our stupid faces     We are

 

lucky to know the obvious from a metaphor our music so tearfully obvious

 

we shine our body parts into a sinister feeling and glow     we glow on and on

 

two spotlights shining down on nothing left to say.

I ❤︎ YOUR FIRE VS I ❤︎ YOUR FACE

 

 

Every new day my friends is firecracker and I can feel your shoulders inside

 

my shoulders the strain is lockjaw and telescopic how I love the universe

 

and our muscles tearing apart how I love what we do for no good reason our

 

anxieties stuck in our vinyl mouths like microphones our sadnesses filling

 

our pants with mayonnaise     we tell each other how this version of

 

the world is petroleum how we are the gasoline in our blue veins O the world

 

is dancing and it’s so cherry we’ll tell everyone we know what we know about

 

anguish     it’s ferocious and it’s spectacular and we don’t care if our names

 

are earnest     I’m singing our names in the shower because our names are

 

real and terrifying so real it hurts our faces to be full of love that’s how

 

I’m feeling right now and I want to caress that     my love has a purpose bigger

 

than Cincinnati OH and I want to caress that     This is something we can

 

agree on: clap your hands and sing yeah it’s beautiful heretoo like YEAH IT’S

 

BEAUTIFUL HERE TOO and I’m telling you again because that’s affection

 

 

that’s my liver at full throttle and it’s singing and I don’t know why and I feel

 

forever is the second-punkest word ever invented after love     When it’s after mid-

 

night I wake up and I reach for my megaphone which is a blackout waiting

 

to happen which is called another Wednesday night waiting to happen     All my

 

friends are clouds and I am grateful for the sailboats in our black holes

 

for the music in our faces that is so Midwest it’s a garage and a parking lot

 

in our guts our guts the absolute beginning and the absolute end the place in

 

which we reach for conclusions sewn onto our hearts     our hearts suck face

 

and it’s more cardiovascular than bleeding more gingerbread than your freckled

 

soft face     All my friends are rockets and I am setting my face on fire

 

 

with a snowcone and some matches     I want to subwoof everyone I know

 

and rhinoceros our beautiful music call our music what we call our hearts

 

and swallow my favorite moments call our lives The New Republic of Hoopla

 

keep our hopes up O HOW WE KEEP OUR HOPES UP and sing each

 

other our favorite pop songs      I’m singing us into forever-hood because we

 

can never die we can never die we will live forever in the shade.

biography

NATE SLAWSON is the author of Panic Attack, USA (YesYes Books, 2011) and a couple of chapbooks. He lives in Chicago.