Music Machine

On the page the paper breath cracks:
swooping glyphs open their black eyes
and yawn a linear series of numbered sounds.
The grid weaves away
a shaking topography of compressed breath and screaming strings.
Formulas shiver into listening
splitting twilight into sunrise.
Notes both sharp and long
punctuate and scale the blueprints
of a time machine looking to be made through the power of sound.


(a magpie poem)

Singing Cedar Memories

(image sourced from Magpie Tales)

The geometry has tilted,

our eyes slide too fast and too far down,

gravity gets hungrier with the years.

When the body takes a moment to remember

our legs make bruises on the sidewalk.

And when those cold footsteps crest,

we pull that deep red nostalgia beneath us

and slide down on singing cedar memories.