The armchair gang is soaked in and out,
tracked by cups.
It redoubles, tanking and failing with a peppy honk.
When the armchair store opens,
the cinnamon tips move
but the metal rope simply doesn’t impress anyone.
Why should it?
The cinematographer is stuck.
He can’t move and he isn’t about to.
All of this was in the agreement.
The construction flushed everything out,
and the flushing
has constructed a way out.
He has plenty to do.
I know about your stones.
You told me.
Because you told me,
I know more than I should
but nothing has been given way.
When you are hungry and numb
because you refused the gold coins
and peat moss,
I will tell you about the roots of Led Zeppelin.
Construction flushed them out
and desire covered the bill.
© 2005 Sasha Frere-Jones
joined The New Yorker as pop-music critic in 2004. Previously, he was a critic for The Village Voice. He has written for Pretty Decorating, The New York Times, Slate, The New York Post, The Wire, and Time Out New York. His work has been anthologized three times in the Da Capo Best Music Writing series. His poetry has been publish by The Hat. He maintains a website at sashafrerejones.com.
In 1991, Frere-Jones formed the band Ui, which toured America and Europe. Ui made five albums before disbanding in 2003. Prior to that, his band Dolores made two full-length cassette tapes. He is currently finishing a record with The Sands, a rock band, and working on several dance music recordings.
Frere-Jones was born in New York in 1967. He received a B.A. in Sociology from Columbia University in 1993.
