It barks at no one else but me.
A guitar walks on cushioned toes
brushing the strings, simple cords,
eerily staged into an ache of calm,
folded along an upholstered wordless hum, gliding.
A perilous, dropping injection of harmonies
melded with soft rain from a great height.
Like it’s seen a ghost.
I think of you, the only.
I forget the words, I forget myself,
I’m a rubber man, in fake plastic earth.
Inside the song
you taste like the real thing.
The melody’s door flies open,
formed with yearning flowers
handed to me in the clutch-reaching tenor voice.
No alarms, no surprises, silent.
Wake, from your sleep
It’s not exit-music from a film
I guess it’s seen the sparks a-flowing
The lonely guitar tries to get some rest.
Its pick inflated by the airbag, absorbing the crush.
A hand coaxing me
into overlapping vocals against the wall,
inside me, melting into revolving spaces
between the sadness, the separation.
No none else would know,
but you know, you always know, all the time.
Hey man slow down, slow down!
There is a song to keep us warm.
It’s a job that that is slowly killing me.
The guitars rush in front of the drum’s trembling skins
while chance tells me you never wear out.
Sometimes I get overcharged.
That’s when you see sparks.
Please don’t bring up the question:
where the hell I’m going.
I don’t know, I just feel you moving
at a thousand feet per second.
If only I could be who you wanted,
all the time.
Hey man, slow down, slow down
Idiot, slow down, slow down
Everything is in its right place.
Today we escape.
The dripping harmony is locked
in the echo of my sinews.
I choke on chicken voices repeating in my brain.
Breathe, keep breathing.
The guitar quiets its ecstatic pull
having its way with me,
insides turned out.
It can’t get rid of itself.
When I am king you will be the first
to remember my name,
amazed that I survived this.
Minor cords gathering inner steam,
Raining down on the pulse of a single note.
I can’t do this alone.