Ravel makes me tired
This concerto should be played in the rain
where fallen angels hide their tears
trembling, new converts against a browning mist
that slips its canvas beneath the mouldering sky, dripping
all those collected things we hold up, supports-
a catheter to dreams....
yes, I walk under these trees that assume me
into their bark
but from the horizon's vantage you would never know
this, a coupling that pierces thorough
particulated and raw, how can I stay sane when
amber, I bleed, memories
and can't seem to stop their flow, there is no sleep now...
I wander an insomniac in these strange woods
to be pulled to that place where the ground heaves
spitting out hallowed pieces of my time
and then
challenge me to deny them-
what would you do as Ravel is playing
and your feet sinking fast
to lay my head down and close my eyes
with a muttered goodbye to the world
is so tempting
to wrap myself in death
and in those piano chords
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