Hards to Explain Blues
Here with the crackling
of wood severing my spine;
I’m not alone―
low-hanging rooftops
of put-to-rest
memories drape above me;
As I cling to the notes of jazz and blues
soothing the airways, deicing the mist
clouding the air;
then becoming tears―
it’s safe though.
nobody’s looking;
though I’m not alone;
but, no one’s here;
but the chimneys of put-to-dusk
fireplaces that sneak
reminiscences of memories that
blazed aside me;
but dwindled abruptly;
without reason;
Left cold, I changed costumes
into the ever-changing note within
the simplest jazz set,
yet, the most hard to explain blues;
tooled on the most easily
recognizable instrument-gone-off key;
love.
As I follow the path the music sheets
Lead from the lyrics written by
the most confused hearts, stuck in the
simplest silences―avoidance,
deceit, & retractions
Unlocked safety―
Now falls tears.
nobody’s looking;
though I’m not alone;
even though, no one’s here;
but the degrees of winter’s
first blast that sneaks its
fallen heat into the images
of turned-to-brown greenery
to create an image of scenery
of a man listening to jazz and blues;
not alone though―
but holding empty hands;
that were once you.
Mark Anthony Thomas
Copyright © 2011