In Café Welling,

musicians are slaloming --


around each other.

On unequal legs,

the musicians are dancing --


fire out of the floor.

.
.
Oh, why must this be!
In this pretend society,
it proceeds to drown me in
insecurities, frustration, envy.

We are our very own droplets of the universe,
each person with uncharted galaxies
that not all people can descry

Most of us are prone to ire,
a single remark
can spark a fire

Fearing to be seen as imperfect,
we change the pure essence
of ourselves,
that very
moment

Do I even know me?

I started to think
if there was even a calm
before the storm,
our minds frantic,
and
I'm concerned
.
.
Life is a dance, never-ending!
A game of musical chairs,
with a sole chair for all of we

Unaware about the
hundreds of seats
surrounding it;

All this negativity
just because of a flaw
within
me
.
.
.
you,
and
everybody.

I caught a vibe
When all I needed was an iv
I get it.
I shouldn’t have taken another drink
Unless it was water
I can’t feel the light
All I see are demons
Who want to eat me
Hurt me
Watch me hurt myself
They like it sick sadistic *****
*******!!!!
Was a medic my angle?
Or was it the stranger who listened to me
The magic man with the music outside of the concert venue
Spare change and soft sounds
I’m out of my mind
Far from my body
So far high
High up I almost died
I know what it’s like to almost die
When you go so high you see how you will fall
If you can come back down
To your body will the heart still be beating
Oh **** it is
Too fast too fast
Who’s in control of this body
Make it stop
“You done acting like a child”
“Stupid *****”
I can’t think of what to be so I will listen to those around me
“Child”
“*****”
“Tweeking ****”
I am a child
Who isn’t a *****?
I’m out of my mind
And into yours
Do you not like me?
Why?
What do I look like?
I can’t see myself
Wait what the ****?
Can I even see?
It’s going black
Wait part black
Spots
Help me
Where are my safe people?
People?
No one
Leave me alone
*******

As I raise my morning coffee cup
my right bicep muscle flexes
and my right forearm muscles flex
and I am
enjoying
my muscles flexing;

I play
a music video
on my kitchen television
and dance
around my kitchen
flexing every muscle
in my body
and I am
experiencing
Muscle-Flexing-Joy.

Radiant blast of fury and fire.
Mixed and hid inside like uranium in iron.
Wild boy dreams and finds, Nirvana in art.
The art of words, the sculpture made with hands. The music of those dead too young.
A briar wood pipe carved with care.
A smoke of Cavendish hovers in the air, like a phantom.
Mind free, purpose pure.
Perfect peace inside a volcano.

Each person has a song
That plays in life's turntable
Together in the album of humankind
Rock songs, folk melodies,
electronic experiments, ballads, lullabies
Like the Beatles' White album
A wild mix of tracks
That don't seem to fit together
But sounds perfect as it is
What do these songs have?
They have melodies that burn the heart
And rhythms that scar the body
Not everyone wanted to write the song
It just bled out of them
From lacerations of what they've seen and experienced
Each song is unique to each one
There is one main writer
Yet the credits is shared by all
Nobody wants to talk about their song
They just let it play and play and play
Hoping that someone listens

Theodora's song is a modern one
Somewhere between pop song and dark ambient
Lonely guitars, an upbeat drum machine, and scathing synth pads
She keeps it like a pearl inside her head
Growing wilder, more elegant, more painful
The lyrics are found somewhere in these pages
She tries not to think about it
Yet the melody screams through her body
She doesn't want it in the album
But she has no choice
So she writes something else
Something stranger, more dignified, much higher
With string sections and choir voices
With what she believes are the right lyrics
And this she shows to other people
Hoping that this is the one that sticks



Reader, I plead. Listen to the song of your neighbor
And if you are able, share as well your song, your fable

When I heard your jazz improvisation
I craved the taste of a fine confection
Your synths were the flame that roasted my heart
Drunk with the notes, your sweet wine collection

brow creases lightly
piano sings a soothing song -
fingers in their turf.