Forest, rivers and oceans
couldn't hold what one note
can
And that slow drum
like Alexander into Egypt,
Give a man an instrument
and he'll show you God

Drunken couch corners
feet up head back
late night slow jazz playing
****** ****** ******
give me more give me that
sound
I need that sound
like the sky needs blue

I was in
a relationship,
now I'm not
(insert poem)
The End

I keep trying
to finish my
beer but
Miles is playing
Homs with Damascus
on deck like
Green in Blue in
Bashar
and the conservatives,
that is, the Muslim ones
or rather
the extremist ones
that is, ****
there’s good people
dying to a machine gun
bass line
‘dada doo da’
‘dada doo da’
and they all want
the guy gone
but we’re just playing
White Christmas on repeat
trying to drown out
the bass line
but it keeps bumpin’
‘dada doo da’
‘dada doo da’
so I finally take a sip
but it’s sour and
flat and the bass line
is bumpin’ my elbows
and pulling’ at my chest
‘dada doo da’
‘dada doo da’
with a C-4 concerto
that makes Bach
seem irrelevant
and Mozart a spoiled
brat, my god
it’s a sink-hole in
Dm, the last one
on the album that
makes you think,
“Why did they let
this happen?”
‘Dada doo da’
‘Dada doo da’
Oh boy!
It’s enough to really
hang your hat on,
but that’s for another
generation to wonder,
Me-
I’ve got this beer to
finish and the record
keeps skipping
‘dada doo da’
‘dada doo da’

there are cobwebs above
my bed,
and not in a metaphorical
sense
I’m staring up at them
and they mean something
really
or they should
I should care
and I do
but my head is
half buzzed
and four a.m. is
a couple of
blinks away and
well
the walls are the right shade
of clay
like the word Arizona
and the crickets are trilling
songs
on violin spurs
as the ceiling slips away
and my eyes are heavy with
desert
and the cobwebs
endure
another poem