Did you know,
my dear, that I
am a realist?
I have no
beliefs, only work
from what I know
is real —
so when you seem so
ghostly, slipping around
as much through me as
near me,
I find it hard to hold on.
I know I should just
stepm back and believe
but instead
I’m floating here staggered
by the possibility
that I am the ghost
in our love, and therefore
unworthy of myself.
no hairband power ballad
broken hearted nostalgic chum
high on the neck twiddle de dee
for thee tonight
no power chord slammed across
the fingerboard rosewood and bridge of ebony
no fingered delicacy rejection ode
for thee tonight
what happens now
between that G string and me
whatever happens a bend away
from the obvious note is my choice
but let it not be the same as always before
let it not be a stumbling around soundhole
as if that were canyon and not foramen magnum
the open spot on the head of my child
in this fresh moment between me and thee
let what creation may come
not be familiar or copycat or influence bound
let it be ours and new and ready to grow up and out
Dark Matter 