Of Songs

"And what did you do then?!"
I shrug stoicly.
What audience wants to HEAR is that
I snapped a kick to his knife hand,
Pulled back lightly into his testicles,
And rammed a final kick to his
Gagging throat.
What I want to TELL audience is
Of where I have been,
And the symphonies I have lived...
That some songs are too easily
Quenched,
And that my memory hums to me
In the dark, and in the silence,
Or in the mirror of a moment,
And that as their bolts parted
My ribs and froze my body,
The harmony most precious to my heart
Was ending
With the last torches flying to the thatch,
And her eyes like two hands
Screaming for some hold,
And finding nothing as my Voice
Drifted with the breaking of her heart
Upon that stony land.
But I cannot tell audience this,
For they see a song in the folds of
Leather holding plastic and paper,
And are too entranced in their tune
To know that what I have lost this day
Walking along this urban arena
Is truly nothing....