My younger face was on a screen
Above the bar beside the game.
No sound, just lights across my jaw,
A black shirt and a borrowed name.
I watched myself miss every cue
And lean too hard into the stand.
The room applauded twenty years ago.
Tonight, nobody knew who I am.
My mouth moved first.
I knew the line.
The man beside me
Kept perfect time.
Dead channel, still coming through.
I don’t live there.
It still looks like I do.
They kept the songs.
They changed the view.
Some nights I’m proud of them.
Some nights I mute the room.
Dead channel, bright and clear.
A life can disappear
And still be everywhere.
A message came at 2:13:
"You were the reason that one worked."
I typed "thank you," erased the rest,
Then read it twice because it hurt.
The new guitarist stands where I stood.
Better posture. Cleaner hands.
He plays the ugly part correctly.
I didn’t know the part had plans.
They found the angle.
They fixed the frame.
The crowd still shouts
The former name.
Dead channel, still coming through.
I don’t belong there.
It still knows what I knew.
They kept the songs.
They made them new.
I hate that it hurts me.
I love that they’re good.
Dead channel, bright and clear.
A life can disappear
And still be everywhere.
There’s footage of us carrying cabinets
Through snow behind the old rehearsal place.
Nobody remembers what we argued about.
I remember everybody’s face.
I was there.
I was difficult.
I was useful.
I was young.
I made the floor shake
Under songs
I no longer get to touch.
Dead channel, still coming through.
I don’t live there.
It still sounds like I do.
Keep the songs.
Keep making them move.
Just don’t ask me to watch
Like I’ve got nothing to lose.
Dead channel, bright and clear.
A life can disappear
And still be everywhere.