The Taste of Lemon
1.
A Valentine's Day salute to the lonely
And the solitude they may achieve
Moves smoothly through the air.
It takes us a little bit further
Than you'd otherwise go.
The river may be muddy
But the sun still shines through.
It is considered sharp
But sweetness pervades
When mixed properly
And at the correct time.
If everything is just one of those things,
That leaves each discrete particle
To shine in its own light and sound.
Dancing in this church is allowed
Whether the authorities expect it or not.
2. Persnickety
You lost my train of thought
But I found the caboose and re-entered.
The train ran over somebody's feet
But that person walked away, anyway,
Singing quiet sonnets to the air.
No more death days in this kitchen
As the train keeps moving
Without concession to individual desires.
Even couples must apply in advance.
A German-French original confusion
Was discovered and has been
Deposited in books
Where it remains, hoping
To be rediscovered someday.
Give your spirit to a ghost
Only if he or she asks for one
And you have an extra one to spare.
Maturity management bankrupted long ago.
My doors creak but my eyes are fiery.
Making a joke of deprivation
Still fails to make want disappear.
If you don't have a clue,
At least you have to have a plan.
Peruse your own vivisection
If we must.
The dust of the past sprouts snakes
But usually only at night.
Play a song for your parents
Before it's too late for all of you.
Your reconstruction period is now over
And has been replaced by an ambition comma.
Your little zipper on time has been pulled up.
Your sleep has been uncovered
For what it truly was.
Our grammar is up for grabs
And varies at our will
With only a few hours notice.
Turning a phrase into an epic
Requires more silence
Than you will ever know
At least for the unforeseeable future.
As you move away from the cave
It grows larger suns
But the shadows incline.
Make something happen
But always make sure
It's the right thing.
A little green string running down your map
Means you've gone beyond the end of the world.
Get the picture but let it go
When it no longer moves you.
Pass it on if you find
A suitable retainer.
As the old song sings,
You can't always get what you want,
For good or for ill, whether
By will or by pure chance.
Pure mind retains controls over all
But rarely exercises it
Or even makes an appearance.
When the light hits your eye
Rise up or glide gracefully downward.
When Eden garden becomes a park,
The angel had better sing on key.
Here's the letter that was never written.
Decipher its sounds as silence
Or rework it into music, as you will.
Tom Savage
2/14/05
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