Like a 4 year old, covering my face.
I can't see you.
You won't exist if I refuse to acknowledge your existence, so I put my headphones on and turn the radio up. I turn my attention back to the table where I have spread out a new puzzle, 1,000 beautiful pieces waiting to be ordered.

It is one hour later and I have been absorbed in my angry thoughts, flicking pieces and sorting and patching a sky together. You sit on the couch, and when I glance at you your mouth starts moving.
Can't hear you.

Another hour, there is a horizon, the skyline, a mossy earth. I need to fill in the details, though, and I don't even turn to see if you're there anymore.

You are and you yank the wires out of my ears, startling me from wanderings of self-righteousness.
I'm sorry, 'aight?
I blink.
You were right, you say. I shouldn't have done that. Now will you leave the stupid puzzle and hug me?

I hug you, and we finish the mountains together.

Song on Donnie Iris's 1980 album Back On The Streets, and always a show-stopper at Iris concerts. The story has it the song was written when Iris was practicing his guitar in his basement. His wife kept nagging him to turn down his amplifier so she could watch her stories (which he did--from 10 down to 9.5) and perform various household tasks (including cleaning the dog's s--- off the front porch) that he got so mad he turned his amplifier up to 10 (apparently he didn't have one of Spinal Tap's amps), hit a power chord on his guitar, and told her to clean it up herself, "because I Can't Hear You No More!"

Lyrics were here once but have been removed, leaving only this shell of a story.
