Flowing voice-
such a sweet aria!
only such arabesque
allegretto beauty
could ameliorate
shakespeare, mozart
with only mere words.

Andante ambiance
azure bliss blossoms
when gaze meets gaze.
lovely cadence
your dusty rose lips
whisper dulcet
promises of eternity
Oh eternity!-
how short it does sound!
But yet eternity
must efflux at some time

we will hold eachother
in the next eternity
and the one after

Well hello, all, I’m your maestro ceremonious
they call me Lokonious, purveyor of the odious
so sit back, relax, and celebrate the… atonalness?

A: Andante con fuoco
We’re goin’ a cappella so let me say first
your style’s ba-roke, now let’s get on with the verse
you’re all up in the scale with a falsetto pitch
hittin’ soprano like a castrato *****!
my mind is sharp, while you’re stuck outta key
my rhythm’s all natural, you can’t find a beat
you need some help ’cause you’re out on your own
find that ****** on a subway, the metro-nome

B: Allegro con brio
throw down the fermata and hold up a minute
your ****’s a cacophony, no way to spin it
and son, i ain’t broke, my style’s all classical
you just can’t register that my words are magical
I spit rhymes in fantasy, can’t you see that you’re beat?
And they thought an allegro was unfit for elegy

A: Moderato col legno
well as for your girl, it may sound corny
the ***** loves my brass ’cause she’s: oh so *****
dispel your illusion, i got one more
your girl’s like a crime show… easy to score

B: Allegretto grazioso
your intellect is minor and your insults are bassless
your composition’s hardly a harmony: graceless
your cymbalism’s trite, and your motif’s unknown
an unfocused opus full of dissonant drones

A: Affrettando agitato
get out my face with your unnatural rap
you spit cold air and your lyrics are flat
you’ve got no harm while my canon’s a gat
so work on your refrain, ‘fore I bust da cap-OOOHHHHH

B: Coda
pull your weak crap, ’cause you’re outta your mode
such imperfect rhymes that we’re calling a cod-a
no time for the fanfare, you’re trying my patience
an end to your requiem, bring out the cadence

So that’s their story, best not get involved
their fight’s an augmented fourth: difficult to resolve

her voice, in imagination,
is a moonlight sonata
to which I listen
when I'm alone, eyes closed;
covetous heart unwilling to share
painful beauty of the adagio,
explaining pain only angels know;

then, effortless transformation into
playful allegretto, delicate hands
already caressing bruised soul,
nestles fingers into mine;
we stroll, entwined as lovers will,
along lonely paths together,
each holding up the other,

building to passion of presto;
pace quickened, chastened steps
abandoned as flesh echoes
electric crescendos of bliss,
all that's real ceasing to exist
save sweet sweat,
fragrant breath of the other;
then I listen again,
to impossible moonlight,
and imagine.

Crackles in the sky,
Ricocheting,
Electrifying.
Allegretto in its
Timing.
Indigo bled out,
New colors flash
Glowering.

A shriek in the house.

Stillness assumes
Till another spark
Opens the fear,
Rearing this chilling, rumbling
Music.

She closed her eyes and allowed
the slow, heavy notes to ground her.
Her body became heavy,
with each somber chord her back
and shoulders sank into the bed.

She sensed her still fingers and toes
as the simple musical phrase
continued to build upon itself,
becoming more defined,
increasing in intensity,
creating complex serenity.

Pain became sadness,
sadness became comfort, and somehow
peaceful joy emerged.

This happy intricacy climaxed
into melancholy abruptness.
Painful chords, angrier than before,
had been betrayed by hope.

Her blood felt thicker, slower.
Her nerves seemingly stopped
sending impulses to her brain.

She continued to sink into the bed,
perhaps through the floor,
deep into the ground beneath.

Pressure of sanctimonious earth
pushed down upon her,
mocking any arranged attempts to breathe.

She didn't resist. She felt comforted,
secure in the unforgiving earth.

The music ended,
as did her emotional anesthetic,
and she was finally able to cry
into the safety of her
comforting pillow.

night
shrug off flannel coats
     leave them alone with each other
     on the floor
     get reacquainted
night whispers nothing all too sweetly
with its sore throat
down the hall, in the bathroom

now
on a floral sofa slipcover
reading two books with one light
     allegretto
night expects rain to peek in
barely humming nocturnes
barely ambient

barely
burying faces in crooks of knee
     dips of side
     curvature of neck
night relaxes
contentedly fallow
chilled
closer

When the night takes you
into it's dark and mysterious embrace,
and you travel ever downward
through chambers that have never seen
the sun's glowing face,
and faceless archangels carry you
bedeviled place to place,
and you tango, allegretto
with Dante in his chamber space,
and you wake breathless
with an ashen face,
It's my desire to be pillow side
kiss your forehead,
hold you close, reassure you,
that once again you're now safe.

this feeling
bears no home in one thought
here in this heart it dwells
beating orchestral thunder
waiting its next tidal currents
bringing closer a stranger specter
paws impressed on deep forest moss
wandering easy with force and might
descending within a primal wilderness
jolting these foundations
in passion's yield

cec

Oh, grant me a new song.
A start again afresh with no regrets song.
One with a bridge to a new accord,
a song with which I can get on board.
Something that strikes a stronger chord
with those who like me
long to be
fully
factory
restored.

A song with a fresher melody
(and I definitely need a different harmony),
something that's part of a wider symphony
maybe with an occasional solo part 
for me.

A song that I get to sing with gusto,
maybe to a slightly quicker tempo,
a step up from my imposed Adagio,
closer to a brisker Allegretto.

Oh Lord,
you see me.
You see that I long to sing.
Can you please
wipe me clean
and write a new song with me.

J'ai toujours sous la main
Une ou deux molécules de ma muse effervescente,
Sa poudrière et sa houppe pour le teint.
Et quand vient le boléro de la migraine
Et que l'hallali explose dans ma tête en pleine chasse à courre
Et que c'est la curée chaude
Je rappelle la meute des mots chiens et taureaux
Et je transforme en plein couvent les kilomètres de petit-lait entier en fa dièse mineur
De ma Decatur ecclésiastique
En AOP.
AOP,
C'est Aspirine et Antimoine,
Les deux vocalises de ma muse,
Deux sœurs siamoises,
Deux divas effervescentes de Cadix
Que nul bistouri ne peut disjoindre
Quand en duo, aveugles, elles dansent leur boléro dans un bain d'encre
Allegretto con moto
Au son des cors de chasse
Au lieu des castagnettes.
Ces deux divas sont une lettre d'indulgence,
Un passeport incunable pour le paradis,
Dont je suis l'enlumineur, le rubricateur, l'imprimeur, le relieur
Et l'auteur.
J'imprime à grand tirage leur psautier poisseux sur deux colonnes
Et quarante deux lignes

A bird's song is gently caressing my soul,
to the realm of freedom, it carries me whole ...
Up there, among the stars, in the beautiful sky
and inside, where our dreams, we cannot deny.
An impulse to sing with my heart felt alright.
With my heart and not words, with a child's delight.
A child wanting to play, to laugh, and to run,
to hysterically jump, and to just have more fun ...
Walking barefoot as to feel the fresh lawn
tickling his feet, first thing at dawn ...
A bird's song took me away and with it,
in the kingdom of beauty, I was joyfully greeted...
It was smelling of green, of bloom and of white ...
where everything blossomed, without any blight
I found myself sitting in a soft, fragrant meadow
with a fresh, streamy creek running fast, allegretto
I realized that this place seemingly made up
was all real, and true, and would only fade up.
It’s been sealed inside my happiest memories,
yet a random bird's song unlocked it with ease...

Festive fingers
Allegretto shape
Black mist
Over arched insteps
Passed twin valleys
Where Achilles fell
Now glissando
Palms smooth
Whispering patterns
Across flowing calves
Navigate knees
Bony promontories
Until pianissimo
Spatulate hands
Taut lace against
Trembling thighs
Would that those

Worshipping hands
Were mine.