requiem, repose, relapse

turn that old radio on,

my chin up, mouth agape,

pour me melody and i’ll

spit it back up, i’ll look like

an angel with scorn filling my eyes,

i’ll flinch like i’ve met the bottom of this,

lay like i’ve been cast here, hands clasping

and around yours despite

this fear is as old as the blues fears death,

as old as hymns fear their god,

as old as the cacophony of the heart