Alex Jordan's Palm

I played a show in Winona, MN this weekend and decided to pay a 2nd visit to The House on the Rock in Spring Green, WI. It's a weird, weird place. It inspired another poem (also wrote one for the book). I recorded some of the weirdo music machines with my phone (hit play). Check out the pics too. - xo, Jenny

(If player doesn't work, here's the mp3)


Past the snarls of buckthorn
past the stiff stubble of hay in the fields
up into the slopes of newborn green.
Analog keys float over
a sugar snap snare beat.
Grainy and fury, the sound of
beer belly tom-toms
dropped into our palms
like shiny new tokens.
We took them directly into
his world’s fair,
his austere dynasty
which finds few modern patrons
who understand the maple sap nature
of his erotic eccentricities.
It’s lost on ticket-holding suburb bunnies
Their tokens slip into coin box slots
prompting the mis-hits and dis-chords
- all necessarily imperfect
- all like red paint on barns clinging through
the decades in faded glory
They prompt sugar plumb cymbals
and beer belly tympanis
in a full flight of movement
whose sound is like crawling dendrites
coercing us in an honored invitational.
I accepted,
and into my palm fell
a used token
The door crashed into
the strange geometry of his day old parties
Who were his guests?
Where did they come from?
Somewhere in these hills must lay
their landing strips and helipads.
They came bearing exotic liqueurs,
hookah fodder, and something sleek:
A musky token
for Alex’s palm

Link to Photo Album