Popular
Song
People who live
in popular song
fall in love.
Forever.
Claim they can’t live
without you.
As do I.
And the one before me.
Citizens of popular song
come into
and out of
one another’s lives.
Suddenly.
With abandon.
Guised as bedrock.
Or smashing decoration.
Later stanzas close doors.
Leaving lovers
inside the song. Alone.
They can’t go on.
But do.
Reanimate themselves.
Like steamrolled cats
In Looney Tune reels.
Their comic lot
just another song.
Elation and its cost
ready to be cued.
Postscript:
I'm not one to regularly post my poor attempts as poetry. But I didn't actually write this one. It came to me, almost fully formed, in a dream. A dream, I believe, which was catalyzed by late night reading about Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche - an infamous early populizer of Tibetan Buddhism in America.
Time spent in the Himalaya put-paid to decades of obsession with cosmological and/or metaphysical speculation. Entertained notions born of my own genetic predisposition to unbidden visionary experience coupled with oral and written first & second-hand accounts of conversant experience.
The novelty of looking again at something that might be described as akin to an old-love may have given rise to this self-cautionary epistle to.........myself?
