japanese breakfast, or an ode to odes

fade in:

soft sounds from another planet:
the spaces between notes
the gasp-gaps between
the breaths
picking up a call and saying

over and over
all the years and the planes
and the poems that are vehicles
to another

a string of permutations of sounds
that are words and then symbols and then
communication and then
the you and the me

a voice in the noise –
how must i shape it?
release a song
into the unknown

a sound gets stuck
between the cheek and the tear
in between the you and the me,
mouthfuls and mouthfuls of words
rise up
in the throat
or the eye or the heart
or the organ you prefer

a new language dribbling out
of each composition of breath
and then word and then sigh
and then bar line traced from cheek to eye to the crinkle
beside it, down to dimple-well on the corner
of feeling and smile.
this is what it is to say something
to mean it like music

we find the song in the
the plucking of the strings
glimmer of silence between vibrations.
soft sound.
the shaping of the mouth
into an “o”
for an ode

sometimes it’s only a thought,
as if a poem unformed in womb:
for example, there is someone you think about
and thought becomes his face becomes his mouth
somewhere else
you arrange the lines and the sounds
into an idea
that lack of knowledge demands you
must feel before you know

since birth:
for example: the T in boston is an alien
name you learn from a book you both read
and that is also the only place you can meet,
inside a page, or
between the hands
on keys or screen or imagined body
the dance from thought to symbol to word
to conversation to image to feeling
look how we spool our odes to each other



1 2 3 4.


a 1 and a 2
and a 3 and a 4

pluck-speak. pause. pluck-speak.

on and on
ode to ode
sing a song
like this one:

till death.

and then
sigh-silent-siren –
soft sounds from another planet.

fade out.


Photograph of Japanese Breakfast by Craig Scheihing

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