Like a discordant chord striking the piano deaf,
Or a saxophone that lost its swanky sex appeal,
When you breathe down the neck of my violin,
The horsehair refuses to bow,
When you huff out your limitations into my harmonica,
You disrupt my harmony,
[But I refuse to be beaten].
On the lawn in the court,
on the bench by the bush,
pipes are singing cacophonic rhythms.
Breezes, on becoming aware of said tune,
gather to dance
and trade their burden treasures
Once wearied by translucent celebration,
the breezes turn home
carrying echoes of song and gifts.
The piper stifles his tune
and leaves the court,
which returns to equilibrium
I am always caught
on the ragged
edges of your breath. There are too many
words in the syncopation
of your sighs
and I never know
which ones you mean. I know
that I need them. A sequence
of notes is not always
a song, but I still listen
for a melody. And still, I expect
more than I find
in your slanted
glance. Your eyes are dissonance
trapped behind glass. Once, the secrets
hiding between your lashes
peeked out. Their echoes
are still tonguing the air.
A noon-time beat plays in the head
Tea-time brawl revisited now.
Lisping out a song later. 'Really?'
The fridge is empty. The late cuckoo
tugs at the heart; Summer sweat
on evening's brow. Deep down
glow, inner lit springs shadowed
in the woods. Cacophony birds
returning home. Cook, cook, cook.
Filling up sink. 'Ah, am I that bad?'
Insecticide can; Make something up:
the noisy fan; Lady in hood, rising
from the lake. 'Could I have....just
done it another way?' Walking by
the bund as the sky slips away
veiled among the blinking stars.
the harmony of discordant tunes
closed to thought
strewn against wind
in the onslaught of scattered
attuned to this one alone
messages of self-loathing
that medication covers over
the bandage merely adequate
a stale, small blanket
so that this one
Infinite and default.
a poets' boon.
is not our lot.
language and noise.
Wonderful, rapturous noise.
movement of earth,
Noises of lives,
big and small.
And we're getting closer,
filling infinity with our mounds
Meaningless and beautiful,
what's here and what's left,
resounding to the edge of reason,
What is today if not a ripple,
the shock of yesterday
bouncing off tomorrow?
Each moment nothing more
than pebbles thrown and sinking?
Our human efforts a shrill
cry in the canyons:
"I want to be free to be me...
to be free to be...
me to be free...
i want to be me...
be free to want...
i want me..."
but it trails off, dies out,
like the ripples in the pond,
the efforts of a stone.
I’ve done ill; I’ve done bad
B̶u̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶r̶e̶g̶r̶e̶t̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶
B̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶i̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶
So I had to say sorry
A̶n̶d̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶s̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶d̶a̶m̶n̶ ̶s̶i̶c̶k̶
Because it’s the right thing to do
E̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶i̶f̶ ̶I̶’̶m̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶
A̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶
T̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶h̶a̶s̶ ̶h̶a̶p̶p̶e̶n̶e̶d̶ ̶
And I’m guilty for committing
An unwritten crime; so, “I’m sorry”
M̶a̶y̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶s̶o̶l̶e̶m̶n̶l̶y̶ ̶g̶o̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶e̶l̶l̶
I’m glad you have forgiven me
I̶’̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶g̶l̶a̶d̶d̶e̶r̶ ̶i̶f̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶n̶’̶t̶
For now, my heart is light;
no burden to carry.
T̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶ ̶b̶u̶r̶d̶e̶n̶ ̶a̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶,̶ ̶a̶c̶t̶u̶a̶l̶l̶y̶.̶
I̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶r̶e̶g̶r̶e̶t̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶.̶ ̶
B̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶;̶ ̶
M̶a̶y̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶g̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶h̶e̶l̶l̶.̶
D̶i̶e̶!̶ ̶S̶l̶u̶t̶!̶ ̶D̶i̶e̶!̶
For giving me a chance.
D̶i̶e̶ ̶s̶l̶o̶w̶l̶y̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶p̶a̶i̶n̶f̶u̶l̶l̶y̶!̶ ̶
I̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶ ̶
And being your friend again.