Inside of me there is a harmonica man who wears a bowler hat and is not afraid of the dark. My bones are friends with this man.
One day my bones wanted to go to the park, but the harmonica man was too busy; He wailed that he had his hands full with his harmonica and that he was not afraid of the dark.
My bones showed him the last 2 fortune cookie scrolls they had read after New York
meals with large doses of MSG.
With understanding and embarrassment the harmonica man relaxed his face and apologized after mumbling blue. He sometimes felt like the credits at the end of movies in those theater houses—
completely surrounded by black
and falling.
My bones thanked him for his sudden sunny demeanor and told him that this feeling was ok. His crows feet flocked to another telephone pole, for a moment, while he lowered his harmonica from his lips and said in words, “Bones, my friend, you are like flowers.”
Then he played the sounds of soil and roots
while my bones turned their head to the sun.
please follow this blog.
james is my collaborator and his words continue to stop my breathing.
his poetry is honest, provocative and real.
x