Violoncello
In a Wednesday subway train,
undulating, the fresh boyfriend
tucks his girl in the U his hands make
supported against the handle rail.
They are music,
and then a man with a violoncello
comes aboard.
For a jiffy I imagine him playing out
a bollywood scene.
He mops his sweat, looks at the couple.
The crowd allows room for the musician
the way water accepts water.
That Scary Feeling Of The Being A Freed Balloon
Yeah, the balloon I let loose
has become a lone-star, recluse,
floating, art, two-way sadness
and a stoic in search
for my fingers still curled,
but when a breeze brings it
down to the tree we named a name
now unremembered in our childhood,
yeah, freedom has made it ascetic
as if the fright of its solo flight
has filled an immortal but wrong soul
into its rubber skin. At night it
is my moon, the south side of it,
asking 'why'. "I was scared too."
I murmur. Crickets form a vast
meadow around us.
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