Because Explanations Make No New Sense

The sound of birdsong in darkness
The green dream of the carcass
He would say later he was nothing
but a carcass with ten fingers and two rings
Now however we are listening to Steely Dan 
You don’t know who I am exactly
but I am friendly, somehow kin,
maybe from New Orleans, Peggy
you said or Mary Lou Somebody
You don’t pick the song I imagine
Or did I pick it, I make notes about
the ice blue sky and hear in the dark
morning: why choose favorites
when everything is a reflection of you?
You-wouldn’t-know-a-diamond-
if-you-held-it-in-your-hand is my mirror
too (How I used to avoid you.) Why
remember when you already have a body?
Today you say music takes the back of your brain
asking for a ride and says let’s try this
Hey this is worthwhile this is our pitch
This is our pace. I think this is also the time
of your wanderings, when you have been picked up
by strangers and angels and cops who
reel you in which I also hear as r-e-a-l
because you’re listening to something else
not unreal but a pitch we can’t hear
Because gonesearchin was your handle
Who knows what you did with it 
The canoes are belly up in the lake
and snow capped and clanking 
Because it is late and your endless summer 
didn’t turn out as you planned and I can almost say
I don’t need to it to be anything more than this
That there are birds singing and I don’t know why.