Ready.
An ancient mix
of connection plus
classic individuality.
Steady.

Heart and soul pull
together to form sweet
jams of melodious rewrite.

First draft,
Pah! No more than
scribbled lines of quick snap,
The sound of an idea. Crackle!
Electric pop.

Second screening;
This time with a chord
on blues and lyricise.

Word choice, bass drum
Action verb, guitar solo.
Stage left, practice practice
Perfect is only in front of a mirror.
Blue in the face,
Expertise of spit out syllables and rosy pink word fire.

Freeform poetry {jazz},
Filled with line
b
    R
        E
              A
                     K
                            S
that shimmy and shake.

Get up!
The finale is now
Adoring fans
Closed eyes bring
fantastic images
of repressed nights
Howling to be free.

Stage fight
Charming souls
with solid words
and wisdom of the wah wah

One day
One day I'll write you
a poem

I'll write about your
simper
The consuming curves of your mouth
The twitches (sudden, sharp)
in your muscles
(sensations)

I'll tell the world
[empty rooms that read (mock)
my fractured whispers]
of how your chapped translators,
snuck past the
raw fissures of mine

I'll lyricise
About (ghostly) words that
were mouthed
across my skin

In (dazed) familiarity
I will (won't) recall
nights like this one
(none)
Nights where I felt.

I felt.

I'll write about
a love I've never
experienced
with a faceless
person I've never met,
only Alive
in the evolving
depths of (my) dreams
Through dwam
and deep sleep

One day
I'll carve into saturated sand
(under waves that will
greet me with the same fondness I have when I recall you)
all these
Words
that can never exist
(how can they if
you don't either?)