539 Readings | 4 Ratings
Bass Relief
Without hymns, in the post-traumatic glow,
I dim-out, float angel-wise toward the whiteness
& chrome. We work the paper-mill, you work the surgical
angle-in on an open heart, then scalpel, gloves,
ta-dah! The doctor is in. The morphine drip permits
more pain, so we creep out to the borders
smoke illicit cigarettes, sit on the hoods of cars
& inhale. Not every bottom lip’s a promise, not every
good boy does fine. Some faces hold the silence
of snowfall, some distill music, others disperse.
I dim-out, float angel-wise toward the whiteness
& chrome. We work the paper-mill, you work the surgical
angle-in on an open heart, then scalpel, gloves,
ta-dah! The doctor is in. The morphine drip permits
more pain, so we creep out to the borders
smoke illicit cigarettes, sit on the hoods of cars
& inhale. Not every bottom lip’s a promise, not every
good boy does fine. Some faces hold the silence
of snowfall, some distill music, others disperse.
Posted 11/17/09
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Comments (1)
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Nice, and the musical score conceit delights.
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11/23/09 3:37am
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