Building Blocks

The clemency of forgotten wine fills my mouth
as sweat drips off my fingertips
staining paper, smashing glass

The foggy horn of my childhood
sounds through roiling mists and
clouds of inadequacy

I need a fan or
at least a towel

Give me a rag and I’ll wipe away the grime
then toss it in a landfill

Someone once told me what grows when you
fertilize the earth but
I’ve forgotten
I just know that with enough piss
you can kill a tree

You say Life I show you the back of my fridge
You say Death I hand you oil
black as the back of my fridge

I watch a man in a fedora
scream at his saxophone
“Talk to me!” he shouts and puts it in a chokehold
“Say something!” he wrings its neck
“anything.”

The pianist cools him off, plays some rhythm changes
the saxophone recites its ABCs
– “that’s all we need man” –
then inverts the 7th and calls it a day

Just because Gershwin kept it simple
doesn’t mean it was
Just because it seems obvious that the sum of the squares of the legs equals the square of the backbone doesn’t mean
it’s easy

Do your scales
Recite your ABCs
When the time is right invert the 7th and see
how it sounds

If you need me I’ll be by the wine

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One response to “Building Blocks

  1. Pingback: Day 49, Mile 704: Routine | The Trailing Life·

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