Sunday, October 19, 2025

Work ain’t hard.

 Meaning tonig Meaning tonight

you sit at your desk

and seek either

an angel or lion

to help probe

the last oh

of this emotion

John’s gospel

splays open.

Meaning I notice

how inky-haired

& lightheaded,

you begin to trace

circles at your center

pondering if

in a reunion

of broken things

a portrait of the Beloved

could be Euler’s Identity?

Meaning I savor how

since the tint

can serve at least half the sound

and apostasy can loiter

on the tongue as a lozenge,

both you and John—cartographers

on a moving train—

seek to phrase

a supreme fiction

—versus gothic of god—

to move past mere ode or elegy.

Meaning we admire

how at the wheel

of the warship of worship

you whirl as the square root

of minus one extending

chords which turn

to maroon in the bluest

mountains of duende.

Meaning I see

how certain starred charts

—once incomplete—

soon become guide

in a bitter suite

as incensed ropes of smoke

muscle music from hunger

also heard as hunter

—how want

must pay to probe

the pouty mouth

of imagination

or query the angel

and lion of Evangelion.

Meaning I feel

why the same L

which links them—

archaic name

for god or

vernacular for loss—

may seek a certain

etymology in your world.

Meaning what if

the “good news”

does conclude

the Beloved looks

like A-pophenia?

I don’t know

if sufis such as you

or Shams & Rumi

learn all twelve ways

to kneel and kiss the ground,

but surely the second O

of such chromatic emotions

becomes ensō

in modulation,

Meaning I wish

to learn how

to be drawn

into a circle of fifths

or to Picasso keys

into a piano’s grand motif.

Does it re-choir

any Acknowledgement

of “our father”?

Meaning could now

become a relative minor

to absolve any Resolution

from a full-hipped logic

to Bearden the burden

of our double basis

as battered sticks shatter

and every Zildjan

becomes a shivering

symbol brushed by

the breadth of what

you recite

through your horn

as Psalm.

Meaning I love how

since a talent

may also be a weight,

your gift gives pause—

then purples

in turbulent Pursuance

of relief,

how wind from a box

spills bottled spirits

—e pluribus unum—

as if God is an American

Sonnet massaged

into Wanda’s hands.

Meaning you’re not

Matthew or Mark

but instead channel

Trane’s enchanted

—or merely chanted—

four syllables and carry

Miss Brooks’ theory

of the lyric between lines

which tonight—

as the angel and lion

conflate and conflict

—you aim to twist

towards wholly writ.

ht

you sit at your desk

and seek either

an angel or lion

to help probe Meaning tonight

you sit at your desk

and seek either

an angel or lion

to help probe

the last oh

of this emotion

John’s gospel

splays open.

Meaning I notice

how inky-haired

& lightheaded,

you begin to trace

circles at your center

pondering if

in a reunion

of broken things

a portrait of the Beloved

could be Euler’s Identity?

Meaning I savor how

since the tint

can serve at least half the sound

and apostasy can loiter

on the tongue as a lozenge,

both you and John—cartographers

on a moving train—

seek to phrase

a supreme fiction

—versus gothic of god—

to move past mere ode or elegy.

Meaning we admire

how at the wheel

of the warship of worship

you whirl as the square root

of minus one extending

chords which turn

to maroon in the bluest

mountains of duende.

Meaning I see

how certain starred charts

—once incomplete—

soon become guide

in a bitter suite

as incensed ropes of smoke

muscle music from hunger

also heard as hunter

—how want

must pay to probe

the pouty mouth

of imagination

or query the angel

and lion of Evangelion.

Meaning I feel

why the same L

which links them—

archaic name

for god or

vernacular for loss—

may seek a certain

etymology in your world.

Meaning what if

the “good news”

does conclude

the Beloved looks

like A-pophenia?

I don’t know

if sufis such as you

or Shams & Rumi

learn all twelve ways

to kneel and kiss the ground,

but surely the second O

of such chromatic emotions

becomes ensō

in modulation,

Meaning I wish

to learn how

to be drawn

into a circle of fifths

or to Picasso keys

into a piano’s grand motif.

Does it re-choir

any Acknowledgement

of “our father”?

Meaning could now

become a relative minor

to absolve any Resolution

from a full-hipped logic

to Bearden the burden

of our double basis

as battered sticks shatter

and every Zildjan

becomes a shivering

symbol brushed by

the breadth of what

you recite

through your horn

as Psalm.

Meaning I love how

since a talent

may also be a weight,

your gift gives pause—

then purples

in turbulent Pursuance

of relief,

how wind from a box

spills bottled spirits

—e pluribus unum—

as if God is an American

Sonnet massaged

into Wanda’s hands.

Meaning you’re not

Matthew or Mark

but instead channel

Trane’s enchanted

—or merely chanted—

four syllables and carry

Miss Brooks’ theory

of the lyric between lines

which tonight—

as the angel and lion

conflate and conflict

—you aim to twist

towards wholl

the last oh

of this emotion

John’s gospel

splays open.

Meaning I notice

how inky-haired

& lightheaded,

you begin to trace

circles at your center

pondering if

in a reunion

of broken things

a portrait of the Beloved

could be Euler’s Identity?

Meaning I savor how

since the tint

can serve at least half the sound

and apostasy can loiter

on the tongue as a lozenge,

both you and John—cartographers

on a moving train—

seek to phrase

a supreme fiction

—versus gothic of god—

to move past mere ode or elegy.

Meaning we admire

how at the wheel

of the warship of worship

you whirl as the square root

of minus one extending

chords which turn

to maroon in the bluest

mountains of duende.

Meaning I see

how certain starred charts

—once incomplete—

soon become guide

in a bitter suite

as incensed ropes of smoke

muscle music from hunger

also heard as hunter

—how want

must pay to probe

the pouty mouth

of imagination

or query the angel

and lion of Evangelion.

Meaning I feel

why the same L

which links them—

archaic name

for god or

vernacular for loss—

may seek a certain

etymology in your world.

Meaning what if

the “good news”

does conclude

the Beloved looks

like A-pophenia?

I don’t know

if sufis such as you

or Shams & Rumi

learn all twelve ways

to kneel and kiss the ground,

but surely the second O

of such chromatic emotions

becomes ensō

in modulation,

Meaning I wish

to learn how

to be drawn

into a circle of fifths

or to Picasso keys

into a piano’s grand motif.

Does it re-choir

any Acknowledgement

of “our father”?

Meaning could now

become a relative minor

to absolve any Resolution

from a full-hipped logic

to Bearden the burden

of our double basis

as battered sticks shatter

and every Zildjan

becomes a shivering

symbol brushed by

the breadth of what

you recite

through your horn

as Psalm.

Meaning I love how

since a talent

may also be a weight,

your gift gives pause—

then purples

in turbulent Pursuance

of relief,

how wind from a box

spills bottled spirits

—e pluribus unum—

as if God is an American

Sonnet massaged

into Wanda’s hands.

Meaning you’re not

Matthew or Mark

but instead channel

Trane’s enchanted

—or merely chanted—

four syllables and carry

Miss Brooks’ theory

of the lyric between lines

which tonight—

as the angel and lion

conflate and conflict

—you aim to twist

towards wholly writ.


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