pop song

Guitar poetry

If time had a sound
it would be the dark
arpeggio of a rusty guitar
and I’m unsure
why I chose a metaphor
for time
or why that image
should enter this poem
but I’ve been sitting here
not expecting anything
not certain of what to look forward to
all along
kinda swaying with
the wasting of every minute
almost audibly humming
to the repetitive chords
of this imaginary guitar
that someone could’ve picked up
along the way
to fill in the gap
the silent void
that sweeps through
the years.

nihilistic poetry

life as song

That this life is a song

                a rhythm in time

       it is a string of melody

               an intoxication of chords

                   a synthesis of possibilities

                      an improvisation of pattern

       that it is wandering

              a spontaneous unity

           an organic experience of circumstances

               a multiplicity in simplicity

       that it is an urgency to vibrate

              a progress through novelty

                 a passage through uncertainty

                   a metamorphosis through seasons

that this life is a surprise

           a song in disguise

  

             there is little doubt.

Corner’s spiral

 

 

Come trace each spiral’s end

the emptiness of every word

fullness of rippling chords

wondering, strange wondering

                      those that once were

where has the smoke of their pipes

          traveled?

To them we were distant dream’s child

a rising vapor over their colossal deaths—

serene nocturnal sounds

Gathering ink droplets

      over prayer’s whisper

and the fall, rushing leap

bottom deep darkness into

deep immensity’s embrace

Violin growth of love

the stream naturally light

flight upon mountainous sleep

crossing threads of cycles and returning

Entering moment’s origin

returning every minute

                       arriving over and over again.