you are the song

there is a haywire
note
bright white angled spoke like freshbroken bone
glaring like magnesium burned beaches
drier than a desert noon
showering a
caustic lye of dissonance
down upon a town never meant for anything beautiful to begin with
sharp and sour it sneers and forever
shimmying tin and veneer unpeeled
for a hair-tugging second nothing will fit
the entire soundtrack is neauseated and the light is off-time too

and then the cello moans and opens its owl-shaped chest to the flood

and the dawn’s mint laughter surrounds and forgives you

and the harmony of starlight infuses you with calm

and even before you step into the street

you’ll have remembered the tune you’d forgotten to forget

and you will ring through and through with its truth