Synecdoche

Rerun from an injured poet ... but no running

Synecdoche

I wanted to write to you
about amethyst skies
and mercurial dreams
that course in the blood
like rye whiskey
and electric sex
like a fool’s pride
mistaking her part
for a hole in the ground

I wanted to be there with you
for that rare sunrise
and entangled reveries
no rhyme can contain
only memories
and their semblances
the entirety of such things
unconjured by words
all at once 

Instead I leave this to you
these feeble words
these rickety letters 
standing like conscripts
to hold back the waves
of everything we
will ever have

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I wrote this poem three years ago as I wrapped up a year of sharing on social media, a couple months prior to starting this Substack. It’s murky and slender and maybe too clever for its own good. What else is new?

I’m sharing it because I took a bad fall Friday night, and I haven’t managed to polish newer items I have in draft now.

Getting old is getting slow, and vice versa. I managed to roll my ankle on a 2-inch “hill.” Then I fell on the sidewalk and broke my thumb and sprained my other wrist. The ankle sprain was the worst of it, but the thumb really hampers my bass playing. Okay, my video game thumb sticks, too.

I’ll be back at it in a couple weeks, hopefully better for the wear and walking all the way to the bathroom again.

Coda

Overly clever says who?