Watch Me

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Watch me while I write this song.
Don’t look away or you’ll miss the part where I
Sigh.
It’s magnificent.
Does the rise and fall of my chest have you throbbing yet?
Now watch me turn this page.
I’ll linger as I wet my thumb but don’t blink yet,
I’m not nearly done.
Are you wondering what I’m thinking?
You should be.
I’m only thinking so you can
Watch me.
Watch me while I sleep.
Don’t you wonder if I’m dreaming about you?
I’m not.
I’m trying to undo this cyclical sickness and learn
In my dreams
To love myself.
To find a comfortable vanity.
To preserve my feeble sanity.
To be alone.
Watch me give up on romance.
And pardon me while I become
Self involved.
I need to watch myself evolve
Into a singularity.

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In the Absence of Faith

His voice aged that night as he spoke quietly about the disappointment
and rage
that only a prayer could soften.
Beneath the words that bubbled in his chest
his heart beat
but he did not know what for.
I listened to his anatomy and found god
and wished he would speak instead.
The rise and fall of his chest staggered as he made sentences,
useless articulations that failed to find meaning or peace.
Occasionally I kissed him
when only his tongue clicked against the palate of his mouth
and words began to tumble back into his throat
where they stayed without breath
to push them forward again.
He did not kiss back but I tried to breathe some light in
to sustain his searching.
I held him until he slept, and in the darkness that penetrated only one of us
I prayed.

Lost in music

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My fingers tear across the hard brass strings
and they ache to find the right note
the right chord
to trigger my memory.
I found you once in a diminished B 7
but you vanished and moved on
and I’ve been playing ever since.
And what if you’re a melody,
Lost in a pattern in these goddamned frets.
Then I’ll learn to write songs
like I learned to play guitar.
I’ll find you, I swear,
and I’ll play you until I fall asleep.
I’ll play you until I bleed.
I’ll play you until I remember
and then maybe the song will be enough.
I can’t bring you back.
I can’t even dream.
But if I can resurrect just one memory
or hallucinate the feeling
of your beautiful, calloused fingers on my face
then I won’t ask for anything more except to
play your song
again and again.