Cupiditas

I'm too cupidinous right now to write anything of great import though I wish I wish I could. Chopin. I'm listening to Chopin. And somehow I want the music of Chopin to be the blue of this ink on the white of this paper. I wish all beautiful or true things could change mediums into something we could touch, feel, taste, see, and know. Oh and hear. I wish all of it were rolled into one strange, magnificent thing and we were strange, magnificent beings who ate those things and let them slowly work their way through us as we broke them apart and transformed them without effort into what we needed and what was good for us and then let out the rest.

Gravity or (as I leave Texas)

He that moved ungracefully past me

Lord, you gave him an extra dose of gravity.

For though he is not as beautiful as some

Though his wandering walk is less than winsome

Though his mouth squirrels up to his eyes

And there is no space between his thighs

Though his manner decays with his pride

And his natural state is no more than a lie,

Though he has proven himself untrue

Or maybe just scared of all we’d accrue

Though he is too forward and fast

Still always in my thoughts his image is cast

Lord, you gave him an extra dose of gravity

For I’m stuck in his wake since he walked past me.

Funghus

Funghus grows
the fear to fail

your tail they say is
square between your knees

which knock a beat too beautiful still
for a hollow hearted coward

the perfect bell

they hear the beat all around
it guilds them in rhythm divine

even as it shakes up yellow’s pine
unto the neck, bird like thin

to mushroom brain, poison
shooting like neurons into thoughts

of falling, of smalling,
of boring whole crowds

of wearing frowns like death shrouds
imagining funeral drums before you’ve died

of silencing whole tables,
of ruining love’s sacrament- a wedding.

Of ever knowing nothing,
Of growing not at all,

Of reversing a river by repulsion,
Of selfishly sucking whole oceans,

oh funghus growing
fear me yet

look at these feats my fear imagines
and know the glory of this mind

creating worlds next to worlds
and nightmares next to life

a shaper of dark things,
a weight on the sun to encourage the moon

am i. am i.

this music you make with a body
it’s mine!

Hear! You crowds, awake to my sound
It’s fear, yes, it’s funghus.

But it’s alive. And it’s growing.
Showing.
Glowing.

In you.