I take pictures of the street that never get seen
the women I have loved never saw
a landscape that I will make between the fingers that I have
stretched for diminished chords
I have pictures in my heart
the woman I love can see them
they are blurry and badly lit but their meaning’s before me
because I took them when I was drunk or alive
and when my kingdom finally falls I will sing with her a song
to my poorly strummed guitar
my heart broke this morning outside a YMCA
and later the sleeping person outside the seminary didn’t wake
when I looked with a camera-eye and blinked a guilty picture
the way that my coffee-shook hands grab my face has changed
since seeing you last
oh my god just to smell you!
my pictures are waste
the generosity of music has been stripped from me
the kindness of music a proximal kiss, untender but kind
I can picture in my mind a time when we once listened to music and my tremulous fingers found us on an untuned guitar with bends
frets are such forgiving things
out of trees and bad light you are in the background
singing
