Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

there you stand
in the spotlight of my eye
you perform
just breathing
I think
what beauty

but the time has passed
and the social security cards
have been issued
the licenses typed
our lives just
speaking acquaintanceships
the door left open like a closed gate
the dog gone
the cat slipped in
and the furniture arranged

I see you dressed all in black
gold hair like a jazz tune improvising
all you need is a microphone
to moan the sweet notes of your voice

oh you have kicked up the dust of my dreams
they float in the sunlight
twisting this way and that
the hairs of possibility
but so detached
so hung up in the emptiness
of impossibility

your presence is a song
left only as an earworm
a heartworm
somebody else's car alarm
and I hear
like one so wanting to drive away
with you

what can one do
but screw up
a number of lives

and so we are left poetry
in which to stew
taste the forbidden meats
the juice of love
spills on an empty plate

this pulsates with scent and weather
so real

Good-evening, earworm. How are you tonight?
The breeze has cooled and all our moods are light.
I've found a pillow. Rest your singsong head—
and if I snore, just wake me up instead.
I'm praying, earworm, just before I'd sleep.
I'll pray for you, however long you creep
along inside me. What's the prayer you sing?
And what's the lyric you're intent to bring?
I wonder, earworm, what you want from me?
I wonder, friend, if you’d like company—
the radiation of a body’s heat?
Or parasitic, have you come to eat?
Good-evening, earworm. Yes, you’re welcome here
Your lullabies I’m coming well to hear.

Oh hell yeah!
Really dig.
H

smooth...! I like how it sounds, gracias, irishsea!

what can one do
but screw up
a number of lives

Was ever thus, Dan. Was ever thus

there is much poetry in the mystery of what might have been in the hands of a skilled observer......a sweet sad, all too familiar tale.........