my guitar came apart in a dream,
as the last feedback was dying out
and my ears were ringing —
i heard the ringing of the telephone.

red lights must be exercising their power.
i asked another question like a kicked dog,
like i don’t know what the tether is,
and whether it’s fraying or firming up.

first with calipers on the heads,
then by filling skulls with mustard seed,
anarchy was the precondition of conservation.
borders are made up, people are real,

my father’s faith in birds deepened
after my mother died.
i knew then that we were finally past
the power of miracles.

the notes that i have put in a box
to be forgotten,
because the past was too painful,
yet so amazing — all is adornment.

and someone walked away from me,
it doesn’t matter who.

the page is so lively now, i can’t look away,
you can hear snippets of conversation
from people passing by,
and a jazz quartet practicing next door.

the next day the sun rose at the river,
and the feeling began to drift away.

turning the page again
but devoid of real poetry, today.

like sifting through trash
and telling a story about it.

//

(hyperverse)

Waalaikumsalam, selamat tilem, peace 🌑