March 24, 2011 § 2 Comments

I want imaginary deadlines
to meet them like Ira and George
To stay up all night in a quiet room
With you
Like the Gershwins
Want to sit with only two pads of paper and a bottle of wine
between us like a barrier in time
Want a box of pencils just sharpened
Lead on the tips of my fingers and the edges of my hands
Spreading as the world is darkened
– Like fruit inside a paper bag
We would ripen
Like pianists playing double hands
This Rhapsody would not be Blue
Because silence is more creative
If I’m silent here with you
I want to reach into the empty air
And find your genius resting there
I want to write the lyrics
For your syncopated chicken-scratch
Want to erase your dotted line
Where art and life detach
I want to search for phrases on the ceiling
Browse the selections you’ve rejected
And break the pattern of my beating heart
With the sounds that you’ve perfected
I want to bounce ideas off the whites of your eyes
Find inspiration in your clever disguise
I’m an American in Paris
still stateside
and I’ve got Rhythm
but you’ve got blues
So whose
To say
The kind of art we could create?
I would share my notebooks with you
You could read every page – except
The ones I’ve written on
Those are where my heart is kept
But I will give you every word on my blank pages
The unwritten potential midnight engages
And I would share a spine with you on library shelves
The result of magic deadlines we created for ourselves



§ 2 Responses to #56

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You are currently reading #56 at Authored Angioplasty.


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