tunes

sometimes it takes a
tune to make a ‘bright
blessed day/dark sacred
night’

somethin slick or holy,
Amazing Grace?: help me
hol’ these as he passes his
melting candle stick, (wax far
past the little paper circle drip
guards they give you with the candle
when you walk in) to go sit roadside
on a bench to cry. It wasn’t the
dwelling power of the spirit this
time but maybe those

Toons: cat and mouse,
Wil E and wilier and that sick
feel of looking back in time
when nearly soundless film
was considered entertainment
and now I’m drifting off to sleep
my legs over Tim who plays ottoman

in and out of sleep the monophonic
syllables to wake me. But ol’
Satchmo never had
no smartphone and I hear a
cacophony of beeps

I think I’m dying like this
damn battery
measuring my life out in phone
rings like a strange old
battered tree.