You look so coy when you tell me about your friends.
The ones who drink like middle aged Floridians.
You say their names the way a politician might
Describe a handjob from a man he met online.
The evening comes like a blade
Racine through a record sleeve.
But I can't call this a day.
Not until the subways clear and the women
From the Sears summer catalogue appear amid
the metal of my dreams.
You look so good
When you tell me about your friends.
The way they cook, the way they think about the land.
They way they build their cramped apartments into shrines.
I know them well, I've slept among them many times.
You write their names on the wall
Somewhere where the cops won't see.
I don't believe in gestalt, but
you're beginning to convince me.
Somewhere in the background
Someone plays a Prince cassette that their dad
Found sitting in the black tape deck of a burned out
Crown vic coupe in the thick brown soup of 1984.
The evening comes like a blade racing through a record sleeve.
But Let's not call this a day, not until the caffeinated rush wears off
And the sound of your roommates having rough sex stops
And the shrink wrapped coke on your counter thaws
And a sprawling calm comes
crawling down through the room.
Henry Terepka (as Henry Grant), also of the psych-pop group Zula, moves into smooth sophisti-pop territory as he steps out solo. Bandcamp New & Notable Feb 2, 2021
Wonderfully absurdist pop songs that manage the tricky balance of humor and hookiness—The Exquisite Corpse as ’60s pop. Bandcamp New & Notable Dec 4, 2022