Demure to the Rocks

This is my means of survival.

Highlighted bookends.

Adjusted paperweights.

Arranged refrigerator magnets.

 

If I can simply keep things

from moving, I’ll know.

Fixed positions, steady on

this blue blurry ball.

 

Give me some space,

a bit of time,

and this continuum

will seem like

 

an unimpeded stream.

No noise or crescendo

lifting their praises.

Not a peep…

 

Then the rocks cry out.

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Psalm or Face Palm

Only the fridge and a computer fan

Whisper their condolences

To the solitude sought.

 

My mind, plenty loud like

Headphones clapped on

My ears, cymbals

 

On symbols of reception,

The white noise of

My own pseudo conclusions.

 

Psalm 51 like area 51

Draw my curiosity

To the mystery of grace

 

Folded into mercy

As the pairing of woofer

And tweeter balance

 

Morning upon mourning

Of music, while the songs

In the night fade.