tune your chord of silence
to my feverish song
not cold and coarse
but as if we were swinging
on those powerlines
in full-voltage silence
now dance to the chord
of my fever, not our fret
the one we knew best
if you recall the ways
turn away as a milky calf
pigheadedly mute, laugh
throw down your instrument
and kiss my unwashed cheek
Cohen and Kerouac...you have learned well sir.
ReplyDeleteReads like a song, as well. I like.
ReplyDeleteI like that chord of silence and dancing to the chord of my fever ~ Very nice~
ReplyDeleteMy share: http://a-sweetlust.blogspot.ca/2012/03/broken-heart.html
Visions of Leonard in all his glory, and a little Tom Waits, too.
ReplyDeleteI like the milky calf.
ReplyDeleteHa..throw down your instrument and kissed my unwashed cheek...YES!
ReplyDelete