thursday’s poem

{the tonic is personal:the personal is political}

the melody of my being
resolves at the tonic
the road behind me
is dark and bereft of machines
left to flirt with
the moon, as a giant chalkboard
to scribble invisible
poems of love to the universe

the chain is undeniable
yet ignored by so many:
from me
to the road
to the moon and
the universe
and back again
where me is interchangeable
with you, except you find
your own tonic note

I wonder, often
what would happen
if we all were humming our
personal tonics


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