Scotch
tape, pressed to fingerprint
covet
every inch of dust
the
skin didn’t know was ever
even
there
Easels
doused in the afterthought, of
sprinkled
reflections that
mindset’s
purge, out upon
so
many wasted canvasses,
producing
a diary the flesh
would
just as soon ignore
They
say a good fire will cleanse virtually anything
they
say that a can of jolt cola can strip the metal from a coin
In thirty seconds flat
And
I think
what
then could it do
to
a heart made of steel—
lifelessly
cold and listlessly hardened
Masking
tape, generously applied,
tries
to conceal, yet in time, all beneath,
will
in some form be revealed
The
ink on the eleven by eight point five is not yet dry
before
you’ve decided it’s phrase means nothing anymore
the
vowels have all grown askew
into
consonants, hard r’s, k’s and q’s
vocabulary
you’ve always known
yet
still dismissed, until
that
red line draped across your page
As
it’s always has—but now
You
see a line of music
and
have no idea how to play
the
chords so prominently on display—and you can’t
decipher,
the damage that could be done,
if
anyone but yourself
stood
but feet from the point
where
this fire first began…
They
say duct tape has a millions uses or more
yet
sealing leaks and retaining form, I assume, will the one’s most remembered for
