the words end

July 16, 2014 § 1 Comment

where all of it
is music
is my favorite place to be

the man on 7th street

June 3, 2014 § 2 Comments

a mournful saxophone,
just one. its noise like a sermon
echoing above drunken yells
and tires treading. over the constant hum
of street lights and broken voices,
night after night, he plays. making loneliness
cry out into a crowded street of half-hearted
listeners, who sometimes toss him a smile
or a dollar, or two and then shuffle heels
across the concrete walk to catch their friends,
yelling about the a taxi. bar food. a lost wallet. what time it is.
and the man remains, alone and still,
sans his dancing fingers and heaving chest
loyally blowing lonely life into his instrument
filling the crowded air with ups and downs,
a mournful jazz hymn, showering
notes onto an unsuspecting crowd.
they yell about life,
but they may never actually stop to listen to it.

train

May 20, 2014 § 1 Comment

a haunting whistle
echoing across cities
is night’s lonely voice

pause

March 19, 2014 § Leave a comment

simplicity in air
a stroke of sound
a patient beat
of silence
a grateful breath
never searching
for more
than what
it receives

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