music

Poem: Self Like Music

I wish I had legs like Electric Six
kicking and screaming and
loud against
an apartment ceiling at three in the morning
obnoxious dancers
never appropriate for the situation

and

I wish I had fingers like Boards of Canada
measured and careful in
strong rhythms
textured in time that resets itself strangely
before retreating
into shapes playing at silence

and

I wish I had breath like Action Bronson
heavy and rugged from
life’s work
heaved into every room with unflinching presence
giant’s breath
big enough to carry dreams

but

I wish I had dreams like Ratatat
with parts played backwards
echoed hopes
voiceless from being torn to buzzing pieces
maybe then
I wouldn’t sleep so much

Advertisements

April 5-11: My week in ten haiku.

 

Begin confident.
Learn, falter, learn even more.
Repeat tomorrow.

 

When constructing loops,
put an end in view, then go.
So it is with life.

 

Do stoner coders
hack all day, and once asleep,
dream of hash rockets?

 

Cursing line twenty,
she hunts for the bad syntax.
Aha! No comma.

 

Twitter seduces
from the edge of his workspace…
minimize window.

 

The ladder’s too tall
to tackle all at once. Breathe.
Then grab the next rung.

 

“Mindfulness? A fad!”
Smug, the programmer forgets
what he was coding.

 

I swear I’ll begin
to learn Sublime once I can
pick a color scheme.

 

Fingers move on keys
and bring forth elegant lines.
Piano or code?

 

Every Boot I ask
says it’s worth the time you spend,
and to spend more time.