Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Cheryl Wheeler
a different stripe,
from the box on the shelf
honey mist of truth
tight chromatic hug,
brings tears some nights
like a pitiful ancestral melody
and I am swept up
in the healing melancholy
adrift with a vocal angel
hammock-ed in bent notes
with such promise, my bass
is standing tall, undulating
true as the gunpowder in the river
the strings like a quadrant of old lovers
and I am in the church with no pews
no altar, no place to confess
no gowned strangers wearing purple
it's just me and Cheryl
and it's righteous alright
in the key of determination
and I am a speck in the eternal band
a particle of dust on a long wooden neck

been tweaking this this morning or maybe it was twerking ...I'm not sure

Cheryl woke you up again, in this
great particle theory called life..
A moment of healing.

good twerk/tweak-ed testament

Good poem.