©Scott Schumaker
Minor chords
those daggered notes
that impale your heart
their stems
hung
with
rocks
seeming to drag you down
exist instead so that in those black gaps of the clock
when the world’s pulse feels smothered by snowdrifts
and you cannot hear the footsteps of a single soul
not even your own
you catch your breath suddenly as if
hit
by ice-cold water and realize,
“I am not alone.”
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©Scott Schumaker
Who you are now
is as mysterious
as what dogs dream
fog smeared across the windshield
obscures your view of the road ahead
and
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©Scott Schumaker
I come to drop a hand grenade into your high-walled baby crib.
I am the lotus flower yearning to blossom in your deep and cold crevasses.
I am the extra strength, doubly-sudsy shampoo you've been afraid to use for fear I will
wash all your roots down the drain.
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©Scott Schumaker
A hitman in a suburban home says:
What will you make of this day of your life?
He starts whistling the Soul classic
“Going, Going, Gone” by The O’Jays
as I answer:
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©Scott Schumaker
“One more cup of coffee”
sends me into the hyperactive ethereal plane
where the numbness is washed over
with the crackling of life
like Pop Rocks.
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©Scott Schumaker
“Time has told me”
that our moment as it has been
has come to an end.
If we turn around now
to view it again
we will, like Lot’s wife, become pillars of salt.
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