you break ‘em open as if they are enemies
and i say “jazz sometimes makes me sick”. the
sun‘s not shining and we leave the path, take
the conversation and–
place it somewhere else, put it like a bridge
on troubled streams or neat as nightgowns in a drawer, fragments
of us, blue and black and everything between
until it is– forgotten
„i don‘t really think that‘s bad“
i watch you eating mussels and the sea hangs on your lips,
wanna lick the ocean from your tongue – don‘t say it, i just
want to but— stay silent
and your mouth stays closed.
„Why is it“ you ask carefully between two bites – „the jazz thing“
but we got no answers & the light is flickering.
there’s beer foam on your upper lip
„Maybe it‘s too close or it‘s not close enough“
„You‘re talking about jazz now?“ i‘m not sure– outside howls
the wind, heaps of empty shells pile on the table &
i beat them like a drum stick but the rhythm is just mine–
You shake your head, some questions weigh
heavier than steel and for the most,
there are no easy answers,
so you slowly wipe your lips
& your hands glisten, wet with oil
.
it’s my pleasure to tend the dVerse Poets Poetics bar today…and it’s all about conversation… we’re in good company there by the way – with Johann Wolfgang von Goethe plus Candy Dulfer & Dave Stewart for example…curious…? the prompt will go up at 3pm EST and i’m looking forward to a chatty night..
