Time and distance has conspired
to make our love brave concertina wire,
while this may be an over statement of our case,
nonetheless, you and I have the wounds to prove it.
in small steps go up in cadence
go higher in volume raise intensity feel
the growth tap a foot fast then faster soft then
louder tap tap tap beat against the floor keep pace call out
my name I am
the maestro you are a prima donna
this concertina is playing this our heart strings plucked sweetness and sound growing in volume in density I scream hear your bravo!!!
I return, Bellissimo!!!
around Folsom prison
& watched the water
tumble over the dam.
I saw the concertina
at the top
of the fences
& wondered if
the armed boys in the tower
would shoot me
if I took off my boots
in the cool
Then I thought to myself,
"Naw, I'd better not,
think I'll swim a mile
or two away,
it's safer that way!"
A shoulder of clay cut with runnels
set to music, round notes, fat plucked
chords sustained in eternal cascade
from the concertina of the spooling Manistee
above Red Bridge, blue blazes worn
smartly by these still, mute sentinels,
their averted gaze twining into
graceful arches that usher us from one
moment to the next, fine capillary
weave stretched over rib of stabbing light
that illuminates slick kaolin veins,
a surgical tent to conceal rending fingers
plunged into the wound, our faces
smeared, the trees thrilling to our howls.
icy breath sends neck hairs
frozen bleakness takes the shape of
speckling the wall
twenty feet high solid concrete
concertina wire decorations
‘tis the season –
holiday bliss as reminiscent prisoners
and shift sad eyes when discussing
with beaten and battered cranberries
logistically, the state could not afford
all the trimmings for 3000
so donated feast materials
get the highest of praise –
to over-bearing guards
as the time of year
transcends fear and mere hatred
together they spend another Christmas
inmates and officer
blessed in an un-holy union –
Stairs fly as straight as hawks;
Or else in spirals, curve out of curve, pausing
At a ledge to poise their wings before relaunching.
Stairs sway at the height of their flight
Like a melody in Tristan;
Or swoop to the ground with glad spread of their feathers
Before they close them.
They curiously investigate
The shells of buildings,
A hollow core,
Shell in a shell.
Useless to produce their path to infinity
Or turn it to a moral symbol,
For their flight is ambiguous, upwards or downwards as you please;
Their fountain is frozen,
Their concertina is silent.
Tormenting are the times
When your wits are drenched,
Like a fugitive in concertina,
In the quagmire of confusions.
When holding your speech seems
The murderer of your confidence
And hurling your ambiguity
Thrashes your importance.
These are the pinching times
When your vocals,
in defiance of mind and up in the arms
Constantly wrestle with your patience.
The strange grimace on your face
Becomes your unwanted emblem,
Attempts to overcome win you nothing
But disgusted frustration and consternations
In these heart-wrenching times
You're engulfed in flames of extinction
Then your friend bails you out,
Whom you notoriously have named
The dried and the broken Pen.
2 inch tree tops dot the skyline
red brick beneath housing the insane
education office desk
overlooking bars, concertina, and walls
promoting freedom of mind
in a maximum security facility /
he pops his head in asking if he is in trouble
pleading a case before there is a crime
smiling and offering smooth reassurance.
both of us hope I am not speaking out of turn…..
there is always a chance I am full of shit
we part ways as he heads to chow
I click clack the keyboard in time
chapel choir muffled bellowing
behind them, radio’s crackle with line movement /