Riffing off da Bard

Bandsman

He walks in uni, like the knight

of spotless shine and plumed pride,

and all the tests of left and right

feet mark his music, and harm his knees.

Fairy Tale

I am

so in love

with

your

pedestal

Empty versus Empty

the following poem has been modified to fit

yoru mind. it has been stretched, it has been shot,

it's had invisible words edited from it.

those unhatched ideas cloud and blot,

diffuse the infinity ink into something gray,

something raggedy shoes, something blah-blue

something two-toned flat trombones would play

wah-wah with. it is the sound of questions brewing,

it is hugo's triggering town, blown

the hell out of kansas, shivering at the cold cut

of punctation. it has been studied and shown

to wash clean the grime of creative gutters,

to shower drops that plop down like fat men.

It will be rated rain.

We'll watch it again and again.

Lab

Scientists say free will is an illusion.

Sometimes, I agree.

Sometimes I feel like a movie projector,

like another reel day has passed through me,

mechanically gobbled,

instant

by

instant

until sleep comes,

washing my brain with electric waves,

drowning out the tick tick tick tick

of conscious order with natural rhythm,

the slow pattern of sleeping baby breath

turning down the volume of everything

leaving only what I choose to clutch.

And even the sleep is an instant

eternal until I make sense of it

for the sake of the story I am.

Somewhere, I am forever putting the period at the end of this sentence.

Somewhere, I am forever holding you.

Be Kind

I need to know what keeps rewinding movies of mine.

What drives the romance

back and starts this warped and blinding reel

another time?

Sneaking in my cabinets - those monoliths

remember gigantic bathrobes, munching popcorn.

What agenda crouches in my family

videos and sets them squealing

once I leave the room?

Some Rises

Are made for waking before anyone

and wrapping up in their breath.

For brewing a hot pot of expectation

to dip the day in.

Late sleeping, dream-drunk roommates

make the best friends: Peaceful.

Independent. No-maintenance.

No expectations to heel to. No pretending.

Which is great, but still I ache to be somebody's main event;

I, too, want day to break on a budding love story.

But this morning is cold, and meant to be solitary.

for a stranger

Our bodies are severely interrupted bridges,

stubbed ends lopped in half,

trembling to exceed their finite digits.

Our clumsy-elbowed, halting embrace cringes

and remembers in an awkward laugh,

our bodies are severely interrupted bridges.

Our palms grip each other's fringes

(like lungs would squeeze a tight breath,

trembling) to exceed their finite digits.

My tongue is stuck with fearful stitches,

mumbling in its wounded bath,

"Our bodies are severely interrupted bridges."

Brushing close, our thighs fidget

and spasm, like flicking tails of numbered calves,

trembling to exceed their finite digits.

And all our youthful hopes have hinges.

To torque them is a risky craft.

Our bodies are severely interrupted bridges,

trembling to exceed their finite digits.