Tonight, the DJ’s got
us falling in love again. . .
I ushered your noise into existence.
My basket-woven flesh tingled at your presence
my wooden legs stood tall as stone towers and my fingertip
rode along ridges and valleys of vinyl until both hummed
your heartbeat.
You made me fingerpaint with the colors of the wind in the
corner of the family room.
Skip
Somewhere, beyond the
sea
your hands found my memoirs stacked like a stairway to
Heaven in the basement.
They lay on the plastic rack that sagged until its two backs
arched in ecstacy
and you talked to me in croons and songs about low-tide.
Every night, I sang you lullabies,
cradled you until the dust danced for a room empty save for
your breaths
and in those days, the biggest worry was if you finally wore
that Raffi record straight down to the bone.
I shone, in the corner of the family room
Stevie Wonder tickling my ivories
Charlie Daniels caressing my skin
Jam Master Jay playing with my mind until I spoke in tongues
but time will seal all things
and the popping faded
the dust settled
and I stood as a queen’s guard.
I guess
you weren’t my prince any more.
Skip
Middle school
Skip
Prom. . .
Somewhere over the
rainbow. . .
You brought her down here. Hand on hip, firm grip and gaze
to your shoes.
Clicked the Stacy Adams heels together 3 times
There’s no place like home there’s no place like home
there’s no place like home
and then you look up to her face and realize there never was
setting the floor on fire, cutting rug until my grooves
became grooves
and my life had purpose again.
Skip
Can we get much
higher?
Do not ask questions to which you do not want the answer.
Skip
Shots of whiskey
Skip
Shots of friendly fire
Skip
The shared syringe
Skip
The unemployment line
Skip
Seasons don’t fear the
reaper, nor do the wind, the sun or the rain. . .
What is it about you that makes you break so many silences
and never heal them?
A child never forgets his first toy and we played
and talked
and wept
and slept
and now the room is empty save for your breaths,
fast and ragged on the front porch.
Home is the place
where if you have to go there they have to let you in.
This isn’t home anymore.
I watched you crying in the rain
would break to make the cacophony to blow out a window
I’m sorry
my volume knob does not go to 11
I’m sorry
I can only speak in others’ inspirations.
Skip
Strumming my pain with
his fingers. . .
One time, you got your hair fixed. Beard trimmed. She told
you
she found a new dance partner and you imagined her
clutching his back like a B-side bearing all his
back-masking.
Singing my life with
his words. . .
2 times the dosage, swallowing pills and swan songs until
hope floats and you capsize it.
Killing me softly with
his song, killing me softly, with his song. . .
I never asked to be somebody’s funeral march.
For 38 years, I taught you needles should scratch the
surface
like the fingertips of a safecracker,
not break through vinyl
or crack through barriers
sending brains into overdrive, neurotransmitters skipping like
a broken record
fight fuck flee
fight fight fufuckfuck flee
fleeeeee fight fuck flee
breathe.
Skip, I was collecting these discs to make another backbone
in case you ever needed it.
But there is some brokenness even angel song cannot fix,
some beasts that music cannot soothe.
Carry on my wayward
son,
There’ll be peace when
you are done.
Lay your weary head to
rest,
Don’t you cry no more.
