Tag Archives: guitar

The things I do

There’s a reason
why I make
my echinacea
& elderberry tea
after dark

The plants feel nice
inside me extracted
the honey of course
that’s a give in

The warmth is soothing
even in the summertime
it makes me want to
smoke more hash

But no it’s neither those
nor the taste
nor the ritual of making it
just right each time

It’s not even the subtle
apothecary & mushy berry smell
it wafts in my face as I play
strange tunes while I wait

I can use the cuff of my sleeve
from my hoody to suppress
the strings in these spots
make it cry like a broken sitar

So it isn’t that either
nor is it the way they strengthen
our defense against sickness
infection & fuckery
& since we’re running out
of things it could be
I’m sure you must be guessing

It’s a large blue mug
too big to be drinking
before going to sleep
which makes it the perfect size

I’ll wake up in the middle of the neon
night with the need to take the hugest
piss I’ll be god damn amazed by it all
but more importantly I’ll remember

The subtle details saturated
by the side effects of my redeye
where I was
what was happening
I would have forgot
all about what
that feels like

I’ll close my eyes & light
that little fire
I’ll taste it
melting into the bed
like marshmallow & leather
blueberries & pine





 .


The things I’d do 

Retrace the heart
out of the pollen dust
layering the nylon string
acoustic’s body
now it has a shadow
another version
of the same heart
on the same guitar
pressed up against my bare chest
it’s out of tune
it’s been a while
but the e isn’t
it all lines up
everywhere I’ve ever played
is right here buzzing
rushing water running through me
melting down from the mountains
coming off these old black
& bronze nylon strings
the smell of the world blossoming
thru an open window without us
getting lost in the circuitry
of focus I would go
like I did that one time I was dancing
alone with a mask on the back
of my head looking down
on everyone from above
I want to do that again but could I
run my thumb & fingers over them
in different ways, different rates
what do I remember
what can I make up
before I gotta go out
& do that thing




.



The skybox

We had to conceal our laughter

as if we were children at midnight

you could trip and fall face first

down a dark—down a neon—chasm

so hold on tight and don’t let go until

it’s something subtle like a shift in the wind

or a call of a bird you’ve never heard before

like things with spikes on the outside

a dirty old guitar string that still sounds good

when you do that one thing with your hand

and the other one taps along like a drum

never playing the same thing twice for no one

just to feel a spectrum of waves wobble

through the warmth of suncrept bones

the unknown resonant frequencies of organs

and the relaxation of a jaw they moved

with bands across a desert of my skull

to form a monument of death is watching

waiting for the koto to start plucking itself

in the corner of the skybox of time