Tuesday, 1 November 2011

Static Inclination

Katrina Boguski
October 3rd, 2011

If the static inclination of one misconnected being
Taught me players write their love songs in the sand;
Then the moving inspiration of a stable curing band
Taught me healers write their songs from what they’re seeing

He had played a thousand tunes piling rocks within his room
He did strum and play his heart out while he drank,
I grew tired while smoke filled rooms grew dark and dank
Going insane and dying in pain in his living room

Revolutions on the table turning tunes of every label
Sounding music from the left side of his brain
Cutting out the rightful muse with every strain
RPMS of REM moved his eyes but never truly moved his soul
But then again that never really was his goal

Exposing music to a muse in different form;
And in so doing teaching pain could be the norm
He moved mountains just to place them in my way;
Saying, “Honey I’ll love you another day,
But for now you just sit here and beg and stay”
Now those doggone years of loving fade away

As the mountains stood before me they cast shadows in their way
Storing sense in every word like “Bodega Bay
Akin to frightening journeys with the Byrds
Poems can tip your head on what they say
Turning turn upon the turn of every word

So I capture them on paper rearranging what they say
Learning meaning from the point they leave my pen
Pent up symbols fuelling feeling now and then
I keep the shadows but the mountains fall away

Like the dog from RCA I incline my head
Hearing clearly all the words my master said
In the standing invitation of his voice
Now I feel that static inclination was his choice

Moving slightly to the right or moving rightly to the left,
He could have found his groove in very simple moves,
Turning baseness into bass or cutting tunes in the lines of the treble clef
Instead he kept the rut but lost the groove his face to save
The only thing that he could dig was his own grave

That was when I left for the other coast;
Trying to flee the ghastly shadow of his ghost
Which had moved in and then did live upon my street
Pulling heartstrings on the corner where we’d meet

Now I’m sailing most pacifically away;
No need to keep those shadow ghosts of mine at bay
But furling sheets of music penned from what they say,
At long last I’ve cleared the waves within my brain
I can finally hear the muse in every strain

Strapped unto the mast my compass I did find
Sailing past the siren voices in my mind
I find that finally I can see that I am sane
Like a pirate I have stolen all his gain,
Finding wealth within this treasury of pain
But he lost me when he got lost with Mary Jane

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