it’s true


I’m not writing –
for haven’t I said all I can say –
don’t you know all the stories-
haven’t I refitted every word,
seventeen times, flipped the syntax
and given it back to you?

Mid  morning commute and dug
into the lyrics Florence again,
once more, Shaking it Out,
because I’m done with my graceless heart
and my tear splattered cheeks match the
rain checked windshield.

For in the constant soundtrack of me-
you would think
the next track would be coming up soon,
but this is a jukebox stuck on repeat.
So give it some more coins,
and see if I can still dance.

Might be stuck in the driver’s seat of a minivan
but my heart is dancing on pool tables
at one in the morning,
too many glasses of wine deep,
shots of tequila stacked nearby,
and the music knows my name –
So tonight I’m gonna cut it out and then restart

find the joy caught in-between the discord
of harmonies out of sync.


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