The Buzzards Bay Writing Projecta National Writing Project siteA note from the chaosit's a sometimes tilt-a-whirl world lights a blur of color in the dark metallic music overlapping the cicadas and spring peepers
an out of kilter place where the midway entices tin can alley, spill the milk bottles a place where I don the straw hat of a carnie
and yet when funnel cakes and cotton candy lose their sweetness
when mornings are trash strewn and clowns have erased their faces
in other words when I stumble into daylight after nights of revelry
where then is the still point a focus to find a direction to locate
in the back of my brain a doo-wop ad plays The Great Pretender
I want nothing more than to float away on the buoyancy of the blues
to sit at the feet of a sage who will teach me the lesson of the red sun that rolls to edge of the world and balances on the horizon
abbreviated equilibrium an almost moment of clarity a moment to center like thrown clay spinning on the wheel
I'll tiptoe the keyboard of a jazz piano while the saxophone catches strobes
morph into improv
I'll assume the crane position embrace the moon
and let the silence of stars fall on my shoulders like rain
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Buzzards Bay Writing Project
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