The Violence of Sound
Parcels of darkness take to the sky,
storm warnings that strip skin from bones,
swallowing the blood of entire generations.
Heavy wings blacken the sun,
relentless beaks spitting smoke,
staining the horizon with doom.
Empty bellies are filled with ash,
lips tattooed with terror.
The violence of sound scars agony into stone.
War slices into the marrow of families,
splinters cities into shards of shadows,
echoes of the dying
left caged
in the ruins of time.
Seduction
I pour the first drink to settle my nerves,
throw it back with determination.
I snatch up the second to take the bite
out of self- loathing,
eager for the solace of denial
flourishing
in the depths of a tequila bottle
I gulp down the third to loosen my tongue,
delight in the way it scalds my throat,
burning up the roots of inhibition.
I indulge in the fourth to feel beautiful,
drown in the seduction that warms my belly
spreading like a potion beneath my skin.
By the fifth, I forget my name.
Soundtrack
The movie business has shut down.
Aspiring starlets and boys with chiselled chins
are holed up in box car apartments,
faces pressed against the glass,
wondering when it will be safe
to breathe again.
The streets of Hollywood,
usually filled with dreamers,
wide eyed and desperate to be seen,
have dropped into death watch quiet.
The sidewalks are patrolled by men
armed with sticks and plastic knives,
losing their minds
under the rolling eye of covid
and an unexpected heatwave.
I walk the dogs,
but never leave my block,
smile at the rare person
passing on the other side of the street,
forget they can’t see beneath my mask.
Across the road, a saxophone player
practices on her rooftop deck,
a soundtrack of smooth and mournful notes
connecting us through the social distance.