Sitting-In with the Fez-Tones

She knows how it goes,
he supposes, the way
days regularize their
selves, somewhat sort
of, maintaining
some rhythms, filling
the spacetimes left bare
with others, if only
of curling back torn
in weary surrenders you
jerk awake struggling
to escape, erratically
yet sometimes
more purposeful,
fulfilling in their ways
like the slow processes
of some kind of purification
set in and against the grain
of ordinary life to pursue,
like enough control
of the mechanics of tone
production and whatever
to let yourself
yield to expression, finding
and summoning its flow -– so
it goes on the best of evenings
for moments in
this scattered time.

26 April 03

Return to: Top | Poems | Home