THE MUSIC ROOM

Open landscape
Sandy orange brown haze
Sun shining down
Old house once a rich man's home
the only remains the music room
people sit quietly upon the ancient floor
imagine the music floating across that open land
desolate echoing human frailty,
lost dreams years sway by.
When their music plays towards
this Indian desert scenery
drone and flute
make everything seem as is;
in the sky or ground?
Music the landscape opens.

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OPERATIONS EMPATHY

The irons hurt
as you had to turn
them
my back hurt
as they had to turn
me
strong empathy
came out of our
exchange
your legs my back
our scars though
much deeper

My bones re-used
within my body
metal inside your bones
your leg said
to my back
red light to
those who cannot
feel it
blue light to
those who might see
it
yellow to us
without a fuss
insulated
isolated
by our back boned
leg ironed
scar tissued
lives we turn in.

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UPON MY WHITE LILIES

Got my number?

Sorry
this is not a prison camp.

It's a party
perhaps we'll meet again
yes that's a must
muster to our positions.

Number?
I'm free enough to have
forgotten mine and yours.

This was just a silly gathering
not an outward bound escape troupe.

Sorry?
I didn't get your number.
I'm sorry too, for once I
wish someone would get it
for once I wish they'd act upon it.

Sorry?
Oh never mind you stoned twit
or drunk what's the difference
or the purpose if we're both out of it

Does that matter?
Got to go now.

Got my number?