dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: music

Riding the highway rumble strip

Slowly to feel each rise and drop.

Both windows down,

Warm night air hugs the sound of

Tires straddling the black

Perforated edge of goodbyes,

Stop and go breeze whistles

Between each finger

That dares to test life

Away from the steering wheel.

Radio static turns thoughts

Into black and white confetti,

Into missing puzzle pieces

And the quiet notes of the




We’re waltzing on tippy-toe,

Floating like snow,

Topsy-turvy together.

Feathers in a pillow fight,

Two eyes moving back and forth

At night to the rhythm

Of a dream

Seamless and syncopated,

Weighted ticks in measured time

Bring us again to rhyme

And reason.

Your sounds

Are mentholated music,

Giggle-shouts and whisper-songs

Swirl into the wall’s pores,

Soothing and stretching

Exiled toys and the timeout corner

Into a colorful oblivion.

We ride the stained magic carpet to

Your stereo smile

And like dancing bears,

Forget our manners

And the time

But always remember to sing

Ourselves to sleep

To the off-beat rhythm of fun.

Crowded message boards fill

Three complicated stories of

Freshman girl gossip,

Loud music,

And me.

With a man cave of a lobby,

This scented

Breeding ground for texts,

Not the academic kind,

Will surely crumble

In the summertime silence.

Colored lights

Wash each head,

Ignite every eye,

Tattoo bodies.

We all reach

For prophecy,

For empathy,

For A stronger beat

To pump our blood.

Puppet strings

Swing from

My fingers and toes.

You pull out a bow

From your

Frayed back pocket

And somehow

The sound

Is electric.

Sparrows sit like music notes

On thin telephone wires.

Poised with puffed-up chests

Like opera singers,

They feel their elevation

Above buildings, people, cars.

Man’s voice,

In its constant travel

Beneath tiny bird feet,

Becomes only a weak

Mechanical murmur,

A meaningless silence substitute

That lacks the strength

To burst forth from

Its tiny wire prison,

Strung from pole to pole.

The sparrows’ song,

Pure and sweet,

Bounded only

By the open sky,


What beautiful melodies

Humanity may sing

If we like sparrows

Sat and let our Maker

Fill us with music.

The songs of the creek

Are silenced at its surface by a

Thick frozen wall,

So the wind

Creeps up leaf-covered hills

And climbs the trees,

Rustling their dried leaves

That hang

Like a billion beetle carcasses

Tacked on

Steel spider web branches.

It scratches out tunes

Until the creek

Can bear no more

And splits its icy barrier,

Proudly bubbling up superior melodies

And whipping the wind

Into froth, dashing it

Against the rocks.