Monday, April 13, 2015

Fragmented Bits

Eternal sweet heartbroken
swooning cello's voice wraps
tender gentle fingers soundful about
my shoulders, slides note and note
upward into purely melancholic


birds fly like they are bound two to a tether
always the same direction, symmetrically parting and coming together again
nearly touching
then to fly away again, precise
inverted cuves
unspoken calculus of perfect balanced movement
expressed in unmeasured function


Have to get out of my head.  Is it silly
to feel like writing about happiness isn't good
that I seem to find better words when
the writing comes from a place
of agony and dissatisfaction?
We write the best and truest things
from vulnerable moments.


mountains dearer than my own heart's blood
some part of me shall always want you
when I am gone away

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