Bitches Brew

these easy words are concrete
ballads stratified by time
lips in a line extended
into a phrase that ascends
from resurrection to resurrection

calcified and cantankerous keys
screech and shimmy through —

this is a fallow time pool
this is a light in that moment
between on and off
this is a street sign
bent by a left turning horn
this is an open window
during an rainstorm
this is a tip left on
an unsanitary table top
in a five and dime diner
because greater things matter
and the lesser are irritating ghosts —

this is sound which is also heartbeat
and blood flow between the extremities
of feet and hands and ears which hear
time as a chord that escapes
before the next bar begins

untranslatable through the distance
chasing action and reaction
the place on the map which
denotes journey
and ignores arrival as an end