It remains this way until the light nears
and then I release myself in violent reds
or passionate blues
as pieces of my soul fall singly - or in twos.
If I am in love, life is a harmony,
but otherwise I am a lonely melody.
Snap your fingers to the pulsing in your temples
and read the crayon on the wall as it tells
you that my childhood dies
only as I pretend to sing a slow alto
song of grown-up things I don't know.
My world is a piano playing eighth-note car horns
and the legato bass of e flat thunderstorms
that I brave alone.
There is coffee on my breath and ghostly
cigarette-smoke fingers cling to me
so that I can carry that atmosphere home
while dancing in the shadow of a constant
mental saxophone.
California, USA
