A Certain Mouthiness

angels
refusing prayers
and saying nothing

Who are you in moonlight? This and other rock-projected kryptonite.

And what if there was a ceremony by which we could sip moonlight from teacups

and then share this light

with each other's kiss?

There is someone who would do this with me, which reminds me that this someone IS me, because who else?

Rain falls with a syncopation of sound eating space and spitting it back out. A certain mouthiness. A kind of creative ruin.

Every once in a while, the rain gets hungrier so the cadence changes. Eventually it all fades to equilibrium as all things must.

Hunger as rain and witches and little boys who throw things at the moon.

Cardinals in the rain. And Blue Jays. Okay, “hate” is a strong word.

Slowing it down, whereby “it” is way one kneads the dough. Needs?

The cardinal hop from slat to slat on the wooden fence. Wetness stains and drips downward along the fence and also creeps upward in the same toothy way from the ground. Whose mouth am I looking into; who's eating whom?

Body as instrument.

Billy Joel's “Piano Man” keeps playing in my head over and over today. Sometimes the only way out is through, so I play it with the intention of hearing what wants to be heard. All that happens is the realization that I cannot listen to that song and do other things.

That doesn't mean what you think it means.

The rain may stay all day and I may listen to it.