pressing the tight muscles of my shoulders
hard against the stillness of the air
leaning into the melody and out of it again
my fingers not unlike grasping claws
trying to pull music from
a dead thing
that does not love me
the way
it used to.
you have robbed me of my music,
of the words that would
flow in elegant waves from my willing fingers,
refreshing as water but not nearly as
cliche.
the melodies
that raised the veins in my neck
when i spoke them to the mirror
and the windshield,
that left me breathless
heart pounded
half-smiling
into the beautiful vortex of my
spired mind.
they're gone now.
and i'm left with a dead horse slung across both shoulders
and an albatross
around my neck.