the poetry knook, the poetry of stephen m. james

Maybe the encore will save us

Slow, steady female lead holds her note (and me),
baring her soul and troubled she’s paring too much skin
the concert pilgrim cries, “Can’t remember when or where, but I know I wasn’t lost last time,”
should have worn more deodorant though it’s not as strong as your drink or theirs, the iconic chorus words:
Ahh, now I feel peace–they
tell me to pick up my mat and walk–but where?

Tickle ivories, tickle tears, get drunk on the non-words, the non-rational, the misunderstood–could God do any better? Is this what He did?
tense like sex, but the clean up’s less,
yeah, it’s a mess, and so are these lives–floundering in (y)our words:
the amp wind rattles the couples and the hardwood,
the 40′s and the 20′s wiggle in this human concoction breathing your wine song,
pull away like a closing art house movie:
the soundtrack fades in, the unknown actors fade out, the credits roll in, and the patrons yell out:
“What does it mean?!”

it’s funny what puts down the PDAs and pent up phobias,
some say it’s best to minister to those with a beer in hand,
you sting them to sleep with your microphone
as they float–over the rhine.

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© 1993-2024 by Stephen M. James.