Whirring

When the exacts of impression
an overwhelming feeling,
those oppressive Dickinson tones,

Where I try to catch up.

But I am not locked away or
on the verge of.

~

Like we can’t finish
with the song in our heads.

The sea, the trailing noise, rising and rising.
Trails off. . .Rises.

~

I need dangerous=music.
something with strings and claws.

~

Testicular psychosis.

~

Simple place
ment of song.

An equation of letters,
when all is
under the drum:
a beat miscue.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s