Breathe, intake 1..2..3…
Do, Re, Mi
It arcs back on the screeching violin tuned chords of my voice
Mi
The tearing branches of willows holding the Truth to me
The melancholy trickle of tear to paper
Of note to ear
The Hebrew love songs tainting my heart with bliss
In the sad irony of this metallic and anti-classical world
Music is an escape, music is my ship
Cascading down the rolling waves of pain and anguish and fear
Music is all I have in my chasm of despair
The crystal petals of water lilies on the mirrored swan lake
Roaming Hello’s, calling me to the other side
The jaunting juxtaposition of being home and exiled
Is where I stand walking down these tiles
Silent, alone, loud and social
These tiles, as I count my breaths and rests on each step upon them
Marbles falling on piano keys of white milk
Black cats of quarter notes
Sharps of hashtag trending songs
Flats of want to be Bee’s
Buzzing bumble bees of keys
Swarming and buzzing, air to diaphragm to chest to throat to temple to forward
A melody of thunderstorms and gentle rain clouds
Billowing in and settling upon the roof of my mouth
A trained acrobat of speed and agility jumping from teeth to top to bottom
In loop de loops and held high with a bow
Running words through hoops of puckered lip fire
Combating them to leap over the fences of curved corner E’s
Do, Re, Mi
Mi
How I fit
A puzzle piece half flesh and half wood
The strings being tuned on fingerboards and hearts
Emoting forward my rippling star dust of the absurd
Filling half the space of my seat with newborn singer’s blood
The other half of musical intuitive intelligence being polished
Left in the back of a hidden cabinet of smoky glass
I banter and call and become a bird of the halls
Flittering from wall to wall
My wind from my wings breaking the cages set being me containing me
Still I rise on my sonorous wings
For anyone can sing
Even Do, Re, Mi
People claim in cold wind nipped certainty
It's not a talent, nor a gift
It's a party trick
The whispering of reflective rainbow glass
Result from the beautified perspective non-performers have
When they think anyone can do it
We know otherwise
Like its skilled breathing of hippie hydrogen
Or the talented yells of gentle revolution into the worshiping breeze
But for choirs
It’s an instrument, it's a skill
To many soft and abrasive people it’s what keeps them from the kill
The last safe guard before the noose
Rifts cutting into the bonds of existentialism held about one’s wrists
Unlocking the chains of the doors I often locked closed
The sky may be pissed but my smile is strong
Brighten the day, darken the note
I may still be feared but I am free
Because Do, Re, Mi
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