Myriad Muddle

I am writing a coffin which my intention—

—Will never feel,

Will never receive,

Will never understand.

I am giving heat to the sun.

The world laughs at me.

There is no need.

I am the blue of the sky.

I hate it when the sun shines.

I am the mirror which reflects--

—Another reflection.

I am differentiating abstract –

—from the anonymous.

I am descending to deceive—

— Myself, on my own.

Defining Music

What’s music to you Ma?

It’s the lyrics of the love that support my existence.

It’s the voice of the rush I work in.

It’s the bass of the speed and hard work I expect.

It’s the rhythm of my feet as I walk to work.

It’s the melody of the machines I handle.

It’s the sound of the demands, which raises me up.

It’s the whistle of the vigor on flame.

It’s the contentment of being me.