Static Inclination

Katrina Boguski

October 3^rd, 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