there was a time when i was younger, i was kicked out of my first college somewhere in North Carolina, and at some point i was standing in a flea market somewhere, maybe before or maybe after the whole thing went down, maybe that week, or maybe years later, somewhere near rocky mount, at some flea market or some thrift shop, knowing there was a record player at home, something drew me to some judy collins records. maybe because the cover featured her in some very natural sun-shining surround with her beautiful face reaching out, peacefully, maybe it was the lighter colors maybe it was the day, maybe i was crazy or just suddenly tuned in, but i picked up the pair of her records that somehow stood on their own, on a table, or a shelf, or outside leaning against the thrift shop doorway, a little dusty in the carolina sun, in some such season that gave such strange peaceful gifts to boys going down the wrong paths. these records made it home to jersey, some strange i-95 or amtrak journey, alone or with a group of awkward smoking buddies there was this day, that i listened to them and i was frozen, i was motionless, everything about me was nothing. my hair was wrong, arms legs, useless, not good enough, there was some woman, some light haired peaceful beauty, singing about a girl named Suzanne who's half crazy and showing me things, teaching me about love, but i am too young to listen or to get it, i just know this, that i myself don't feel i have love to give, nothing to offer, i am not perfect, i am broken and sad, a lonely little boy that parades himself otherwise, i embarrass my father and i let my mother down, i am nothing, that i don't know love at all, that i am some sort of failure at such a young age, and this judy keeps singing to me, and i am still motionless in my room half gazing out the windows at the moving trains in the distance, past the marsh and the birds in the soft jersey sunshine. when it is time to flip the record i don't, instead to play this song about the girl that leads me to the river, this Suzanne that leads me to a life of some embarrassed happiness, some awkward teary eyed and confused treatment, it is suzanne that i see, but judy it is you, and maybe it was always you, and now these years later, as you sing about the lady who leads me to the river adorned in rags and feathers, it was always you that i sought after, it was always you that i loved, and as your voice comes to me like so many topsy turvy years ago, i am motionless but this time, maybe i am not so much the nothing, now, i do know what i have to give

James Dalton, a Jersey boy now sleeping in Brooklyn, NY, has been writing and performing his poetry and music for a number of years across countless cities to many people over three continents. He tries to believe that emotions trump logic in regards to all his decision-making and he hopes that someday he'll never have to work for a living. His first collection of poems, "Instead" out on Blast Press has gotten a positive response and his most resent collection of music, "Butterflies and Passerbys" out on AERIA Records has been described as "a combination of skilled storytelling and masterful playing" by Lazlo at Blowupradio.com. Currently, he has been workshopping a two man poetry show called "OFFSEASON-Winter Words from the Jersey Shore" with Chris Rockwell. Check out more on James at www.jamesdalton.info