music – other animals

early evening early in the death thinking about death all day the video game deaths I played the music death all the death TV shows the same even if they try to death it my back still sore but better death than the dog deaths her new toy

and no I never did get around to that I gave up on connection and went down paths they warned me about to make blurred photocopies of those same mistakes my hands stumbling fat then thin leaves fell and grew the early sun in winter faithfully rendered in Minecraft reddened the tips of things in a neighborhood or that or this heavy frenemy in my chest sometimes makes his strange will speak

light blue dark blue sky peppered stars
the dog lingers sniffs a neighbor’s
pumpkin and music from somewhere
far or near I once loved the feel
of night on my body wanders
under what little light comes through
though I still haven’t found it

do I admit shamefully sheepishly that I love the stream of music video podcast my phone tablet computer can provide the immersion in old loves missed opportunities new lush lands to be lost in but why not what’s better for those of us who lose the thread so quickly what was that Pavement tune that Philip glass bit I love but maybe I’m getting too Prozac I mean prosaic I think maybe now anyway all the hints can drive you mad you think they’re heading somewhere but one turn around the lake and we’re back at the front door unkissed

at the end of the day there is little appetite for making music still we feel we must take a chance and ask who would make shoes that are so uncomfortable

what hope in this pen and an ink
nearly invisible
earlier the morning sun on
the trees made me think of
large mammals and their humid scent
in the sun in the grass
the countable galaxies of
bright dew and now the chair
makes sarcastic music of my
musing but the night is
still and so wide without a moon

the acrid music of the false concierge at dawn

(First published in Bones.)

music from an escaping dream or an undigested night in which we finish the great & clever expense reports designed to ensnare the accountant of the faerie king

What solar-powered syntax will break through the city’s thick walls later wielding a heavy pen he stumbles never to blink again

But the pen won’t start so the precious possibility with a suitcase secretly packed disappears beyond the hill

Where the music comes from on those nights though despite his best attempts we left feeling as though we hadn’t eaten at all

a dusting of green pollen the music inside me now decades old