miss him
drumming 600 leagues
under the sea,
under me, and my hot, prickly skin,
the one that always responds to contrary moods

set me beside the sailboats, sweet summer sun
as it ebbs besides the calm of the moon -
before the storm, the surge of surf, where he lost me -
I will listen,
as you unfold your own magnificent sails,
a frozen flower, suddenly billowing in the weeds

we are of one kind,
you and I,
in the fields, dystopian though they are,
the sea to keep me cold,
a desert horizon to remind you,
home, home,
come home

I am of many minds,
many of them angry and blind.
But the one who sits beside you
drumming in the sea,
beneath me,
is the one who loves you most.

Posted in Uncategorized

I can’t bear to have my hard-fought, precious words (about music) carelessly torn apart, trod asunder…for sport, and your brand of short-term politics, threatened, as it were, with my very survival, the stuff dreams are made of. I remember when you mocked my poetry. For the moment, you don’t deserve me. Maybe you never did, hallucinatory drug-induced demons.

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