Butch Spring

 

WILL YOU STILL WANT ME
—————————————
As soon as I let myself want what I wanted,
I knew what I wanted
And it was obvious to me what I needed to be to get that accomplished
And it was easy, and I was good at it, and it felt great
Vintage dresses, red lipstick, pick me up at eight

On Saturday nights, the dykes from the suburbs all cluster by the door
And the jock girls play pool and they hog the jukebox but stay off the dance floor
And in the corner, you had the open face of a butch James Dean
And it felt good being under your arm, filling out the scene

And then it started to feel bad
And then it started to feel bad
Will you still want me if I stop trying to be what you want?

In the mornings I wake to the sounds of your footsteps and the coffee grinder
I put on your shirt but I find I can’t take my eyes off your binder
And in the kitchen, you’re like a genderbent Elvis Presley
And this thing bubbles up in my throat and tastes like jealousy

So yeah, it started to feel bad
I mean it started to feel bad
Will you still want me if I stop trying to be what you want?

I WANT TO BE BUTCH
—————————–
Would you like to be a sensitive mechanic?
Would you like to be a gritty warlock?
Would you like to be a pastel-sweatered boy
on the cover of a Sweet Valley High book?

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,
but I want to be butch
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,
but i want to be butch

Would you like to be a stern vice principal?
Would you like to be a nebbish professor?
Would you like to lean into the cliche
of a lanky androgynous hairdresser?

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,
but I want to be butch
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,
but I want to be butch

I saw a photo of an actress
Her ruggedness seemed practiced
From far away, I felt a near truth
so I tried studying her tactics

I saw a photo of a boy band
Bowing for the queen of their land
From far away, I felt a near truth
The picture of desire, but slanted

Are you going to keep your top?
What’s your feelings on low dose testosterone?
Do you feel like teaching your therapist
about the concept of alternate pronouns?

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,
but I want to be butch
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,
but I want to be butch
I want to be butch!

THIRD ADOLESCENCE
———————-
I’m not thrilled at being bad at things again
I’m not thrilled at a third adolescence
My body is the same, but the way I feel about it has its own body,
and that body stills in the corner staring back at me,
two eyes made out of ten questions

Landscape exhibits, catalogs, pulp novels with villainous fog
Where do I learn how to kiss uphill?

Combing through the dime museums of my life
Wondering which me left which clue which time
When I thought I knew myself I only knew a percentage
and I’m humiliated by that arrogance
Now I’m fumbling through the years I assumed would be my prime

Size five youth shoes, a fresh fade, I don’t know how to use pomade
Should I change my name to name what I’m going through?

Underneath your borders is a liquid night
and it’s your job to report back which kind
It’s important for that reporting to be legible
and to establish yourself as a source that’s credible
enough for the audience to sell after they buy

Footprints in the ground like cribbage boards, a grove of trees littered with swords
Be honest with me: am I being myself right yet?

GOLDEN AGE
—————–
I rode into town on my quiet horse
and made my way offstage
Now that I don’t have to worry about success
It’s a golden age

I can have a second act if I want to
So weird to be taught to fear your own escape
If this is supposed to be failure, why is it so great?
It’s a golden age

Let the actors be mad
Let the telegrams pile up at the door
Breeze by the wanted ads
Let the canyon open you up like a drawer
Open you up like a drawer

I found a style and now I’m gonna
make a life to suit
The buttes are eating out the skyline and they’re looking for
looking for recruits

I can see a second axe in the distance
I’m broken by the beauty of a broken shape
I’m made whole by ideas for mistakes
It’s a golden state

Gently lean into the mist
Let the hot cloud settle into your skin
Write to the dramatist: “If you’re concerned, I’ve invented much better sins.”
Invented much better sins!

Oh, so I’m bad?
Well I’m gonna stay bad
I’m gonna stay bad and I’m not gonna learn my lesson

MIXTAPE
————-
I saw you through the window of a yoga studio
It’d been so long, I thought, “who’s that cute stranger?”
I watched some sweat trickle down your neck
and your face was flushed deep, free from anger

I wasn’t bitter about the mixtape I lent you and never got back
I had more ideas- the more I let go, the more I had

I used to wonder if you ever got over a feeling
or if you just became a stranger to the person who felt it
From that spot on the sidewalk, it seems I’ve found an answer
You forget both the hand and the person who dealt it

I know you broke my heart in an incredibly regular way
but when I try to fish for details all I picture is a wide brick lake

You saw a person through the window of your yoga studio
You were startled from the humid dreamscape of your class
The figure was familiar but hard to label
and then it disappeared into the golden grass

And afterwards, you felt bad but you didn’t know why
And as you toweled off your hair, you hummed a song from 2009

STONE FRUIT
—————-

#2 DAD
—————————

Baby, when I look at you
you tip me off my axis
I wanna bring you an orange
I wanna do your taxes

I let myself imagine driving you to the airport at five a.m.
I know five recipes, I’ve got a bachelor’s degree
decent free time and two good hands

And darlin, I can’t claim to be the best you’ve ever had
but I bet I could be your #2 dad

Baby, when I see your name
something inside me softens
I wanna make you some eggs
I wanna do it often

I like to watch the light filter on your cheeks
through the glass bricks at the corner bar
I wanna learn a bunch of deep weird facts
about how you became you are

And darlin, I can’t claim to be the best you’ve ever had
but I bet I could be your #2 dad

IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DAY TO BE GAY
—————————————-
I’m eating a mango in a field of tulips
It turns out that two infinities can be of different shapes
The sun setting through the trees looks like a mint julep
I don’t mind saying, it’s a beautiful day to be gay

If a lie leads you to something true, what kind of lie is it?
Half-transformed youths sleeping under the light of jewels outside the dry limits
I know you spent so long wondering if you would ever flip on
O I like the times where I can’t tell my body from the ground

Earlier I saw two masc of center chaps riding side by side on fixies
I watched them approaching like a jocular, rickety train
And as they passed, we nodded at each other quickly
As if to say, what a beautiful day to be gay

Sometimes God steps back from the immense design
and thinks “maybe I should get bangs.”
Wanna swim to that one abandoned race track island and find the mob of mustangs?
The river turns to glitter, the grass begins to shiver, and the picture making mechanism makes another picture
O I’m one with everything I’d like to be one with

I WAS YOUR MAN
—————
I got a place right under your rib
and there held my hand
We walked by the water tower
Do you know where you’re going, you said

Did you believe you had to suffer?
To be a pine cone is hard
In the picture I search the striates of your face
I put my mouth around your cloud

How did I decide who to love?
The room was dark
Cities came boiling up
It was a world we knew and I was your man

I’ve got a vapor leftover from dreaming
A set of fingers on your chest
The candles shone like candy
My breathing purples and I go down your legs

How did I decide who to love?
The room was dark
Cities came boiling up
It was a world we knew and I was your man
It was a world we knew and I was your man

I’M CERTAIN ABOUT YOU
————
Some people just put on a coat and feel good
and don’t have to figure out what it means
I wish the words we already had felt better to me

You’re a good person to have in a brainstorm
My brain’s a randomly recurring squall
A train I have to think myself off of
The rain tries a modern form for the fall

Somewhere in this world are ten people named “Scout”
linking arms, yelling, “Fuck off, Socrates!!!”
The more I try to pin myself down, the more I recede

You’re a good person to have in a book club
Let’s go read some Foucault and make out
The snake isn’t eating its tail
It’s just resting with the end in its mouth

I feel better but I still feel confused
I keep finding new ways of being in between
But if there’s one thing I’m certain about
I’m certain about you

When I tip my head forward and you cut my hair
I’m reminded that you like who I am
Every time I take a step towards myself, you hold my hand

I wish I could wake up and announce I had
no more need to syllogize
but being is a series of trading off
different degrees of awkward compromise

I feel better but I still feel confused
I keep finding new ways of being in between
But if there’s one thing I’m certain about
I’m certain about you

I’m certain about you