Kick kick shuffle back to the beat
walking through winding streets
ever so trendy with your soaked chucked feet
the picture of early twenties rock
with your vintage tee shirt and raggedy sweater
(that may or may not smell faintly of urine)
and ear plugs feeding the life blood
while your liver pays for youthful magic moments
There are many differences between us,
I spell 'savior' without a 'u'
and when we kissed your lips
held no Eucharist
only the stale taste of old Beamish, taco chips
and the lingering smoke of your cigarette
Kebab house blues - that's what I'm talking 'bout
I just didn't know it at the time.
Are you afraid of silence?
Ringing of blood rushing through
the capillaries of your ear canal
the night dullened and dumb
is that why you write?
permanent marker on swing sets
You said your songs were secrets
because although you are a master of words
you'd rather leave them unsaid
running around your head
strings under your fingers sonorous and wordless
speaking in tones for you
but when I look
I see words coursing beneath your paper skin
ink moving through veins
you manage to breathe
the quarter notes and commas
syncopated rests and fermatas
combining in your semi colon
or just cruising your blood stream of consciousness
point. counterpoint. pulse.