Sir, please tune your guitar

Everything you play is asynchronous
and inharmonic, though it
does create an ambience
good as habitat for the
basic emotions you
express, red-eyed and expectoral.

Imaginary Ordinary

The dishwater suds
stretch white around your hands
like new wool
around your dry red winter skin

and how could I express my sentiments
to you now, every thought is wrapped in words
that won't stick, like the grit and gristle
on plate and kettle that will be scrubbed clean off

and what's left set on the rack to drip
as every bit of fiction from this frame
of imaginary ordinary.