Where does the blog title, Words & Blues, come from? Who would even think of something like that? I have a kind of synesthesia of words and music, ideas and motion. This poem captures something of that madness.
Words detach my mind from mundane things,
set it soft, as between lover-warmed bedcovers,
ride it hard across uneven dirt,
drop me whole among warriors, or
boil my fears until I snap the pages together,
as if mundane things were enough now
to clot my hungry wounds.
I love to craft such words,
but too often the words I set down rise up,
like a confusion of bats and block my way.
It’s cacophonous, a smoke made of rocks
as big as the canyon I write in.
But musical fingers burrow straight below,
as if I could only see the sky
looking up through the roots and bugs and loam.
I find truth in the way the notes transcend the player,
I memorize it like a path in dark woods.
I hear the sound as I sort my words above the ground.
I am all of a peace, now,
in crafting words;
carefully placing them beneath the shafts of light
that mark the feeling
that the music found.