all_that_you_can't_leave_behind raze i've seen these jokers before. they ride through the park when they've got a few beers in their bellies. one of them is always blasting music on his phone. the first time it was rush. the second time it was ac/dc. this time it's a pile of memories. a year before the twin towers fell, i cut class to watch the music video for this song on the little black box that used to sit on the table at the foot of my bed. time-lapse clouds sprinted across the screen. a middle-aged man in dark shades shook his ass and shouted into a microphone i didn't own then and only have now because a friend who moved away asked me to watch over it and twenty other things after someone broke into his parents' house. lovers locked lips inside the largest international airport in france. power chords and throw rugs dressed up a runway while jets passed overhead and threatened to decapitate the band. i caught the video three more times before i snuck back into a building i would have burned down if i thought i could get away with it. i borrowed an acoustic guitar from the music room and sat on the floor of mrs. mcglaun's law class, scraping the strings with an abandoned metal hair clip i found in the hall. there's a picture my dad took of me in bed, listening to the album that song landed on the night i bought it at the devonshire mall. a brown oval bruise above my elbow. most of my face hidden behind the jewel case. right leg slack. left knee bent. i haven't heard it in at least a decade. i sing so the cracks in my voice line up with his. "the heart is a bloom. shoots up through the stony ground. there's no room. no space to rent in this town. you're out of luck and the reason that you had to care. the traffic is stuck and you're not moving anywhere. you thought you'd found a friend to take you out of this place. someone you could lend a hand in return for grace." i'm surrounded by squirrels. newsom. patches. chatterbox. sister moonshine. brownie. the man with the pocket-size radio locks eyes with me and says, "your little buddies are here." the chorus hits. i throw my head back and wail. "it's a beautiful day. sky falls, you feel like it's a beautiful day. don't let it get away." he smiles as he's gliding away from me. "you got that right, brother." the music leaves with him. at home i find the album on the tallest cd tower i own. it isn't as dusty as i thought it would be. i feel its polystyrene shell between my fingers and i'm seventeen again. just angry enough at the world to find something worth loving in its dark eyes. i know i'm not a hopeless case. 220717 what's it to you? who go blather from