imbroglio 5-22-16
words are an instrument
that instrument and i are in a relationship
and that relationship is an imbroglio
it is unforgettable the way
i have heard three dangling words
escape from the panting breaths
next to my ear as though they meant
all the heavens and stars combined
in their intent and gravity
and much later when nothing
except silence replaced them
i am tempted by mistrust and anger
to give them scarlet lettering
banish their welcome from my life
but were i to fall deeply into regard
with the presence of a cello,
and it sang the clockwork of my heart
if a person kicked and mangled that cello
and it did not last into forever,
i would not hate that cello
but would be grateful for everything
it enabled rightly in its fair time
sometimes someone makes something
like a stradavarius or willy's trigger
and by some stroke of grace, it lasts
through hundreds of generations
of doves of freedom to redeem
and those instruments are
the pet-names that last a long marriage
or a cherished childhood expression
someone whispers to a smile on a deathbed
or a monologue uttered inside the globe
theatre that recounts the same heartstirrings
today as it did back when foodforaging
took hours and a maidenface was salvation
the instrument i employ
to channel to another these vibrations
that comprise my inner sanctum
is verily lovable, because if we did not
play out these songs then we would
sit in silence and not know any
of the joy and sorrow, the pain and pleasure
that each other held in womb real as rocks
but sometimes i am forced to put
the thing quietly back in its case
and under the bed, because it is time
finally, for quiet.
words are an instrument
that instrument and i are in a relationship
and that relationship is an imbroglio
reeling 3-30-16
i remember each of us
self-aware and bright
locking on to the notion
that an us was a supernova,
and spinning out reels and line
of the best usses we knew
how to show in real and time
now as i lay down quiet
in the very same room's palette
that shone so stellar a together
entrenched and enchanted
to this town of tiny steps
i think about how i can
still see your shine
from here
and i'm light years away
what a hell of a fishing day
recitals 6-12-16
for so long,
we have been trying
to put on these little recitals
where the purest wee melody
has a quiet little space
for itself and everyone
might gather together
to acknowledge it drowning
out the big world
it's strange and peculiar
how there's always
a noisey fusser who
cannot forgo the attention
and a clicking mass of summary
who always get it all wrong
love is so quiet
when ego and misunderstanding
are so loud
across all the hues 10-5-16
i love how i can remember you
across all the hues
the yellow of your love
serenading with sunswept glory,
the blues of your chosen
beliefs stormy yet redemptive
to the brilliant reds of your flush
excitements welling up
anticipatorally to skinshared quiets
but if i ever had to see
only your outlined figure
in the darkness sinewy
in the way that happens
in the basement tapes
of the mind made from
magnetized impressions
of stardust left behind,
you would mardi gras my
stilled streets with backbeats
and blessing you'd be any and all
light with which my spired pup-tent
would stargaze guessing
to later get to 6-23-15
sometimes it takes disaster to get to where we're blessed
sometimes it takes pain to bring us to where we feel good
sometimes we have to feel angry with someone
to the point where we don't even want to look
to later get to stand before them
and