Down in the
blood corridors and
down in my flesh
I’ve been writing you...
Morning eyes remind me
how much of you remains untouched—
how many discoveries remain.
As the day spins, songs climb out
of hibernation suddenly,
from wherever they'd been waiting—
and you sing your way inside them,
inhabit them wildly
like bodies that belong to you.
Our mouths wide, flooding the chorus,
as they thread and intersect with us—
the great singers of the dead,
soul-singers and blues-singers
sharing this weakness for living—
how these bodies feel good together,
how we are glad to be weak.
and just as well, hahahaha. No it's a good experiment in volume and drama.
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