HWilliams

Foot to sidewalk, cement to shoe
     step to song beats or give beats to silence.
            Step with feet tired from too much tread,
                   guess I'll walk on hands instead.
                         beat to song, gust to mast
                             sound of travel, its own song.
Foot to sidestep pitfalls or potholes,
     skip steps get applause for pratfalls.
            Step to pulse and make hearts skip beats.
                   Take bow, step outside, sidewalk to feet.
Door to frame
     button to lock
            ignition to key
                   motor noise, engine block.
Radio, radiator, radius, ulna
     cylinders under hood
            cylinders filled with soda
                   serpentine belt squeaks, fix it you should.
The car is no Chevelle,
     but Chevelle's in my speakers
            keep pace with traffic well
                   "learn to choose to breathe."
Stuck behind brake lights
     as soon as headway is made.
            Sigh as loud as music plays
                   click volume arrow upright.
Anger builds when traffic fills.
     Stomp throttle or else you'll throttle someone.
            Throw insults like a mime in summer,
                   lip service they might see in mirrors.
Can't point at points A or B
     trace stress to line that traces in between
            Between the 2 spaces where my car parks
                                      mile markers, tail-gaiters, nail biters.
Foot to sidewalk, cement to shoe
     step to song beats or give beats to silence.
            Step with feet tired from too much tread,
                   guess I'll walk on hands instead.
Foot to sidestep pitfalls or potholes,
     skip steps get applause for pratfalls.
            Step to pulse and make hearts skip beats.
                   Take bow, step outside, sidewalk to feet.

HWilliams
12/12

We wait for the moments, but mostly, they wait for us...
to take notice. I notice. And I'm wayward in this sea search, drowning around seaweeds,
dizzy with the thought that these seeds,
over the course of these years,
soaked by my rain puddle of Alice tears
grew to an ocean, now home to schools of strengthened species
who will never ever ever have to cry,
to breathe through weakness or to bleed through pain,
instead--
We dance-- tread in slow motion sound
thread through the song
I am, we are, slave to the drown.
We weep with the waves of sound, they sweep us away, way down
then up,
a shift of weight while weightless,
we wait for the moments, but mostly, they wait for us...
to take notice
to become
to live through
to live through fully
to feel the weight of being carried
by the sound
on waves of sound
we seek to astound
all who see, all who hear
to make them see what we hear,
to make them feel
what we feel
who we are
what we can be.

I weave through this sea of weeds, is seas of sound,
and I think
I start to see me.