by the White Monkey


6/24/03

Pulled Back

Nose bent to instrument, sound inhaled
slowly, deeply, the vibration travels
through cheek bones, enters your eyes.
The strain of the day subsides. You dive
into your warm, woody music. I follow.
Unaware of anyone around you,
breath slows way down, fingers dance. Free
diving with you, I am mesmerized by the
skillful twists and turns, the smoky gift drifting
skyward.

A jarring cacophony of
immature voices brings us to
the surface, noses and ears bloodied by this
upheaval, this break in our spiraling dive
deep into wood, string, love. Pulled back
from a grand plunge upward,
you, a precious cherub babe floating to your mama,
sever your fingers from the guitar
while the girls shovel their way around you
with their blunt tongues
and strangling vocal chords.

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