Every Song I Know

I fail for not finishing my other post, and now I'm leaving to camp for the weekend, so... here's a poem.

Every Song I Know

You are the words of every song I know,

and how they leave me when I rock my godson

to sleep on an August Saturday so I hum and harmonize,

with Chicago’s suburbs and the beat of 167^th

as my baseline.

You are the lines of the poetry I write,

unreliable and abstract mess of paint

spread thick over a tear on my skin,

with pothole lips and soaps that hit my ears

with razors—and blankets.

You are the voice of the men I loved,

flowing in melodies under scenery and snare drums

as the leaves kiss my veins with you

in a schematic escape to lower

lands and expectations.

You are the sound of the drawers in my brain,

plugging into my life-source with files and facts

that shake my shoulders with slamming and hands,

finally coming to empty notes that

echo abandonment, loudly.

You are the verse of Solomon’s Song,

pleading for romance with the hum of violins

and piano keys while I reach for rest in the night,

alone and wanting to feel with you, one melody,

with the words of every song I know.