The stuff that comes out a bird's mouth.
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
no swelling music
just a swelling
of the gut
i’ve been skipping
through my music
one song after another
arranged like a handful
of thrown dice
waiting for the right chord
i wish i could play
an instrument
but i hate practicing
did you see the ending
to my movie
the real ending
not that crap they
played in the theaters
or on tv
there was no heroic victory
no parade
instead
a meteor crashed into my chest
you can only see it
on the director’s cut
special limited edition
blue-ray release
i’m sorry
it’s only available
in new zealand
for some reason
at some point
i start hearing the same
songs and wonder
if i missed something
christmas carols play on the radio
a classical station
so i don’t get to
hear any bing, frank, mel, or elvis
one wall separates my office
from the garage
allowing me to hear
the washing machine draining
the dryer spinning
tossing clothes on the eco-cycle
i lower my head
to the desk
and strain to hear
domestic music
but it’s all horns
and violins
and the dog obsessively
cleaning his paw
Just going to leave this here.
words gripping mallets
my rib cage a xylophone
you make my bones sing
we are all
musical instruments
flutes made of bone
femur and tibia
radius and ulna
so many ribs
bleached and hollowed
drilled with precision
so that the wind
passes over us
and plays us
a dry harmony
we wait for rain
to reflesh us
and take up
our own voices
once again
she dances
on the sharpened edges
of razors
although
she doesn’t mean
to slice open
her feet
it’s just
there is the only place
she can find
to dance
and there is the only place
the music is loud enough
to hear
Since were talking about dancing…
Uptown Funk, Mark Ronson (featuring Bruno Mars)
AND
I’m too hot. Say my name, you know who I am.
