scraps of song cycling

it’s the knowing not the going
that will bring your body home
we open the third build day
with a few rounds of this song
whose notes go deliciously low
on the teach your bones how to rest last line
_______

i hold the drill hard
(only power tool used on site)
against left hip because of
how it (with this boring bit) can kick
how it will
snap wrists
_______

nina and i chiseling out mortices
side by side
scraps of song circle music cycling
through our lungs/hums/breath
________

cynthia and i post-lunch sprawled
in the orchard sipping our respective
beverages (her: tea, me: water)
where pomeranians and marshmellows
are discussed and i say
i can’t believe i (we) ever do this
(ever go into life/go through relationships)
without a guide
_______

secret snack emory excitedly announces
to all those chiseling, malleting, sawing
in the beamery
_______

how we howl/call/cheer out
wooh! wooh! wooh! wooh!
with each sledgehammer-meets-pole/beam stroke
pounding posts/beams/supports together
_______

of the bar in the town she stopped in
corinne shares the flavor of the
local establishment by revealing
the gender indicators on the bathroom doors
(chicks and dicks)
i just peed in the parking lot she says
_______

those are some of my undergrads’ favorite colors/
palette to use corinne says of the  post-sunset
purplegrays and magentas
that fill in the sky around us
can’t blame them i say
_______

the death dance i say describing
best i can what it sounds like
in the moments after a mouse’s neck is snapped
in a trap and before the small creature
actually dies

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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