Phibby Venable

When I sit at the piano, and there are songs to play
little by little, you drift away, your eyes angry
at the movement of music, of fingers badgering
words you can´t hear for the isles of anger
always occupying your eyes,
stomping your ears shut, your mouth
lining up, two hostages pressing against bars

When I sing a dream of impalpable beauty,
love ballads written on a shady park bench
You become a long road, a metal boat,
a banner of old origins in a stench of ire
even though I was not there
when your roots
grew rancid and sour
no one to listen to the music that was once you
No one waiting lovingly
the way they were supposed to

So that now you are pacing, aching
to establish a tightly bound we
Flatline our hearts into something manageable,
something steel, and tagged,
with a guarantee of staying,
Slapping a sign on your forehead -
handle with care

Because no one ever did.