I just want to melt into you and see what it is to be you.

Who Am I?

I live in a box and hold so much tension,
All I want is some air and light and release.
I’m always holding tight strings in suspension,
But only because my notes bring you such peace.

Now open my lid and look in my insides
I’ll show you many riddles and all my lies.
Though, clearly, you can see where my heart resides,
You can’t comprehend all my steel pins and ties.

If, you push down my keys, and see with your ears
And press down my pedal to evolve each note
You will find that the room was waiting to hear
Waiting to be dressed in the black that you wrote.

If you bang on my keys and force me to sing
I will pummel your ears for each time you strike
And lash out sharp to make you echo and ring.
– Though I’m often gentle, I also can fight.

If you roll arpeggios from end to end
I’ll joyfully sing you to sleep every night
With a gentle caress of sound I can send
All thoughts to the sea, with ethereal light.

I’m held in place by my thick, heady constraints
My sole escape comes in your presence each day
When my palate of sound-colors breathes and paints
And sings of beauty in your world far away.

I feel in your fingers the curve of the hill
And the tangible mists that mask the deep glen
In the echoes of this my heart steel is still.
– I wonder as I wander if this will end.

As I watch from the window each season pass
Melancholy melodies speak of winter
But I know, as you know, time melts and won’t last.
And someday, my tension will make me splinter.

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I just want to melt into you and see what it is to be you.

I live in a box and hold so much tension,

All I want is some air and light and release.

I’m always holding tight strings in suspension,

But only because my notes bring you such peace.

Now open my lid and look in my insides

I’ll show you many riddles and all my lies.

Though, clearly, you can see where my heart resides,

You can’t comprehend all my steel pins and ties.

If, you push down my keys, and see with your ears

And press down my pedal to evolve each note

You will find that the room was waiting to hear

Waiting to be dressed in the black that you wrote.

If you bang on my keys and force me to sing

I will pummel your ears for each time you strike

And lash out sharp to make you echo and ring.

 – Though I’m often gentle, I also can fight.

I’m held in place by my thick, heady constraints

My sole escape comes in your presence each day

When my palate of sound-colors breathes and paints

And sings of beauty in your world far away.

If you roll arpeggios from end to end

I’ll joyfully sing you to sleep every night

With a gentle caress of sound I can send

All thoughts to the sea, with ethereal light.

I feel in your fingers the curve of the hill

And the tangible mists that mask the deep glen

In the echoes of this my heart steel is still.

 – I wonder as I wander if this will end.

As I watch from the window each season pass

Melancholy melodies speak of winter

But I know, as you know, time melts and won’t last.

And someday, my tension will make me splinter.

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“Begin and rebegin to … replunge us into the foam indefinitely dissipating the grains of sand innumerably enumerated by the light when all this i remember and again remember that unforgettable moment that moment of poetry of twenty-five years ago when i saw on the page and began the beginning of reading the first syllables the first lines immense and long and taut of the GALAXIES.” Roubaud, in Perloff, P. Unoriginal Genius (pg 78).

“Memory, which keeps this synthesis “in mind” even after its object has vanished; and imagination, which enriches perception and, coupled to reason, can conceive of new ways to achieve a goal.” Deheane, S. Reading in the Brain (pg 321).

“Hearing, after all, is a specialized form of the sense of touch.” Sullivan, A. The Seventh Dragon (pg 5).

I felt inspired by the blurring of the lines between prose and poetry, and wanted to imitate Roubaud’s style in my own voice while blurring the lines between memory and imagination.

Feelings of sound vanish, objects of sight vanish, taste of smells vanish but are kept alive in our cortical workspace where neurons meld and mold memory and imagination to create and recreate the future where the warm splash of memory will rise with, as tangible as fog, and as eternal as the silent silence echoing between the stars where life and light and choice evaporate into the re-remembering of the neuronal recycling of clouds, in white amorphous masses while i lie on the soft green hillside, touching the world around without sight, and the world, reaching out to touch me with the vibrations of movement through sound (all we hear, condensed into one small word) reverberating and reflecting the tiny bones in my ears which bring me back to this world, having dragged myself out of the earthen air of unconsciousness and into the blue of this reality where my finger strikes a key, strikes a string, rolling one sound upon another, painting time, until i stop and the facets of meaning caressing my ear slowly disintegrate into the space between stars.