The Only Lonely Tune
He licks his lips, presses his tongue gently
over the reed.
He finds balance.
Coaxing a tune
that would not move, he blows into his instrument.
There, his life begins…
It is in that instant that love engulfs his fingers
and he pushes out a sad tune that has
not had any time to manifest into its true calling —
But, here he finds it. He smooths it into
new birth. Showering it with sensation and
The tune leaves the saxophone dripping
with decades of condensation that
never had a home.
Triggering the notes, howling and begging the
tune's fading voice drifts
only to find deaf ears, ears that are plagued
with the time of day and the sprint from A to B,
ears that rush to forget the sense of yearning
for the saxophone's story.
The voice sparks and dies on footsteps,
the echoing of chaotic noise,
But lingers around the player.
Feeling the rhythm, the soulful melody,
his minor key wails a hum from the instrument's throat,
and he sways in recognition of
each mourning pitch that hopes to rise.
A story too clear and too beautiful to ignore,
the saxophone breathes in life and
eagerly exhales the words, splattering the ground
with a storm of piled consonants and vowels,
strings of words that were meant to be told,
to be heard, meant to be remembered,
Words that can’t exist.
The once bluesy tune that reached the heavens
is sentenced to life in purgatory.