"Golden Roses"
    Art by Deevaa

remnants of a renaissance man

You stirred the air inside
a frozen faith, sip by
sip, pure
flatwound tones,
focused, in a solid sense
that I could feel,
taste. But today
everything is leaning
in a clammy shade of
summer, every pastel
petal plunged to earth.
Across the room,
your guitar
wears a metal pick
like a bolo, it poses
on an ottoman and
only moves on cleaning
days; insomniac cadaver
of wood.

Words, you stacked them
one on
top of
the next,
hollow little corrugated
boxes. You knelt,

you forged the dream
and rearranged the light
to show me everything
I'm not.
And you -

a pen running dry
carving empty trenches
on a list; a blister
of ink clinging.

M Madison