To disappear and reappear
Translocations finest,
The gift of making mind short circuit
Played upon a guitar’s finest chords
Tuning each string by ear.
So near to the perfection that you claimed,
Yet even further away from the epicenter of chaos.
Here sits a theory that none can be the true element carbon exposed,
Just sit there laying ragged exposed
Raw and uncut like the truest diamond man can fashion
Yet lacking the millions of years to produce the flaw.
This can be the ego thaw that you longed for
Yet still you persist there is something missing
In the sunset kissing your forehead,
A sound lulling you to sleep,
It is the grim reaping of solace and deep.
Thoughts drowned finally, no longer attacking your nomenclature
Allowing things of objects and names of things to settle like sea salt
At the bottom of a plasma filled tube, spun to pool together each layer
Of your wine of flesh to rest,
This was your last ditch effort at it’s best.
Copyright, 2010, Christopher Baird--all rights reserved.
Contact me for reprint/posting permission.
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