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Penny with a (w)hole

Sing to me the song your mirror sings
Of copper tones
Flesh and bones
Of spirited, clipped wings
Of vinyl and aluminum
Can you fit your fingers in?
The two holes of the cassette tape?
The rod stem of the woodwinds?
They say a penny with a hole in it
Still plays a tune
If you dare to position your needle
On its bleeding wound
Tell me, do you prefer an audience?
Or an empty room?
Dare to tell them…at the very least
The bullet pierced right through
The music that raised us
Required human touch
Forbidden love…sweaty, gutsy lust
Yeah, sing to me that song
Like only you can
It’s your mirror after all
Your weekend. Your man.
Everyone is sharing this weekend with you
Looks like they’re sharing him too
But they can’t share the whiny croon…
…of the mirror image
That looks back at you
Only your soul
Can sing that tune

 

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A Soul Sold-Out

I ask, “What happens to a soul sold?”

Perhaps it opens wide
Like a galaxy from beyond our grasp
Mending great divides…
Clutching inequality fast
Does it constantly question its value?
Look for receipts…in seats
Labeled ‘white attributes…
…Only’? Does it compare itself to free?

Maybe it attaches its virtue
To cowhides and ‘Becky(s) with good hair’

Maybe it’s blissfully
Ignorantly
Richly
Unaware?

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At My Best…IDFWU

You were a lesson
Who I was not afraid to choose
And at my best, I’m never really
Afraid to lose
Because through loss
We all gain perspective
So, you were a choice
And I? Well, I was selective
You were never a mistake
Just a divine option…
I was brave enough to make

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