Melisma
They say it started with a word,
and hasn't yet reached an end.
I wonder why we never stoop to an end.
I'm tired of how we never stop,
when every moment is a stop
on the itinerary of your day, so go.
There can be no one at your back if you continue to go.
There can be no reward but what you already know.
The best unknowns are those you know.
I can never admit them, though.
We are assistants, and though
we are wanting, we are here. Though
we are lacking... No...
Not lacking, just without the words to say no.
I respect someone who can say no.
Pearl
High. Middle. Low.
I think the word is syncopation.
I must go slow.
I want to do away with class.
A wail. A vocal run.
It's a matter of emphasis.
Casting nets to catch the sun.
Clicking instruments.
High. Middle. Low.
Nonsense and stumbling.
Truth has no place to go.
I have put aside my delusions.
Undetectable but remembered.
Cloven-footed was never trustworthy.
I am capricious. I have bled.
High. Middle. Low.
Dry grass catches quickly.
I know all the songs by heart.
That's how I grow.
We have passed the test of profitability.
The rest is cream.
My Dirty Red Bandana
I was at central station waiting for a train.
The sun was struggling through cloud.
He asked me for a light because I was putting out a cigarette.
It was something in his eye that told me to ask.
Days later we said goodbye in the same place where we met.
We agreed to meet again there,
but knowing how intentions fade,
I doubt we will.
I wonder if I can explain to you
how I've had to leave some things unspoken,
how some things are better off unsaid.
It's necessary to construct a persona here,
to know that I am dead,
that this voice is not me,
that it's in my possession
this text cannot be.
The three texts above were published more than one year ago on my PublishOx account. Before now, that was the only place they existed. More will trickle over slowly. I hope you enjoyed them.