music of the spheres (20171214)

breaking like

a guitar string breaks
after fat fingered fret pressing

digging into tips
(calloused or not)
trenches or primordial scar tissue
(or not)

all vibration
either in air or universal ether
ceases

no chance to make a chord
now

that the single strand
has

snapped

signs, portents, bells (20171109)

seems innocent enough
a holiday display
a single word
with a dozen tiny lights
the word
joy
as seen
from outside
shining in a window

but looking at it
from inside
with the lights turned off
it looks so much like
you
but broken
or stunted at least
if not shattered

this isn’t
a fundamental or cosmic truth
and i’m not reading
anything into the odd bit of
seasonal dyslexia
or the inside/outside holiday dichotomy

it just struck me
is all

Poem 20160226b

in the graveyard in my chest
buried things
we don’t say anymore
decay
a reliquary of abandoned words
discarded phrases
each bound by
invisible threads
unbreakable threads
to that singular muscle
also trapped in my chest

with no shovel
to break the frozen ground
i try to dig them out
using my fingers
but pull back hands
broken, bloody, covered in bites
where the silence set its teeth