Neo-Enlightenment via Seattle concrete via stolen iPod
Give a man his music and he will give you a spiritedly crooked smile
no matter what the predicted weather forecast.
Even in death his fingers tap the air like bird wings -
a rhythm is a schism turned cosmopolitan via enlightenment
in the neocolonialism of footsteps.
And a woman, not myself,
though not unlike,
lifts a haggard hand upward,
puffs the pale plagiarism from
a dead body lingering on a sidewalk,
turns it into art,
and my mother is scoffing in the background,
people don't realize
what suicide does to other people,
the people who live.
There's two sides to this puzzle, I think,
the side with the picture, and the side of blank
The side that gives the game away, and
the side that gives nothing to the imagination
though you could say that hope is the rope
that took him to another word;
like a smiling boy nodding
to me, with someone else's
soundtrack in his ears.