Music therapy
when the basketballs make no sound and
the chatrooms in Russia die down and
everything quiets to deafening and
you know you should pick up
that book you said you'd read.
You've been snowing again,
sketching again. Boobies and big
belly rings and cute feet
without the hammer toes
you saw on the model.
You have been sniffling again
at the little tears that do not make it
down your cheek. Speaking in mumbles
to the voices where your ear hit the bricks
last night
yet you made it to class regardless. And borrowed charcoal.
Excuses are for the dull.
You have reasons. You can smell
the model from here and it is gross
in the same way your dad's laundry
smelled like the donut shop,
missed birthdays and chores.
Headphones tonight,
every night these days,
because you know what you did a decade removed.
They do too. And when the man with the blue hankie comes
you will both know who comes for whom.
Listen to what stills and what can still move you.
