School, Guitar, and Death

I could hear the simple melody from afar. Correction: I could see it. Beautiful blue electricity crossed my vision. As I walked across the campus and passed the sun-bleached green picnic tables, the colors danced enticing me to follow. Sensuous electric fingers pleading and pulling. On the concrete steps, sweating in the sun, sat a lone guitarist, or maybe it was just the guitar. I cannot seem to recall. The guitar wailed and I, looking around, was the only one listening. Does music exist for the creator or the listener? I do not know. All I do know, however, is that without either it cannot exist, and, with only one, it cannot truly live. There is a symbiosis. An osmosis of emotion. Without which, the music is naught. The music is dead.

The sun sets,

the music recedes,

and the death of day begins.

Love Song

In order to get a song out of one’s head,

an individual must listen to the song

in its entirety.

Are the ones we love

a beautiful looped verse?

Do you have to live with them

for a life time

before you can get them out of your head?

Orchestrated Chaos

Ask the river,

illuminate the soliloquy.

Saturate the cathedral with saffron

and condemn the bishop,

he’s a commanding kibitzer.

Orchestrate the machine

while dancing with shopping carts

as lace transcends fire with shear mastication.

A pierced eye vanishes in the jungle

questing for adventure.

Such vivid,

Striking words.

Please Ignore Everything You Have Read Thus Far

My pen,

that bastard,

turned on me again.

Promising prose and poetry

but producing cacophonous chaos.

It frolics freely as I sit shackled in

tumultuous uncertainty.

Dreams of the Gods

What if we were the dreams of gods?

Entities of impossibilities

restricted to a realm of beings where

only the possible is a possibility

and the improbable impossible.