Death Cab For Cutie

last night i dreamt that i was you.
i was dressed all in black with dark glasses
and attitude. such a pose i could simply not
hold through days in a northern town that
i had once called a home. your studies for
fringe new york streets: i was reading the
pavement in every work you would speak.
to a "brownstone up three flights of stairs"
and it's on...
buying drinks for the poets upstate, this
southern corrupting towed you down the
interstate, and they all said that you
were the king of gloomy disruption that
surfaced when you would speak. this