Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Concerto numb3rs - Sheet music Origami
I fold the moon into a crane
that would soar across the sky with 999 kindred,
but slide it into my back pocket,
in the place reserved for love notes & old photographs,
a 1000 words
in a pale reflection
of the one
Which sounds a lot like math,
as if we could just find the right formula, isolate the right
variable – it all might make sense.
Gravity is so misleading,
you would think it was human, holding us
in invisible arms,
from spinning off & perhaps that is why they never find life
out there // but it’s perfect,
too much and we’d be crushed, slouch,
crawl along on our stomachs. I hear music, when my lips
trace the bridge of your neck.
Something with strings.
So unlike what drives me to work. The moon in my pocket pulls
at the water inside
me, the crane
wanting to escape, across the waves.
Or is that