Alphabet Soup Minuscule

The Laundry Maid

Velvet Underground

I wake up, and my insides are still blaring.
Bits of this golden hair, left hard from your spinning wax.
This mind, like an old 45’ twirls,
And rolls harder with every thought of you.
Reproducing those small whimpers, as
You played upon this turntable.
Your toned arm, set upon these grooves,
Slowly converts these bodies vibrations,
Into Velvet Underground.

The Spark

I am only this city, where you have begun to settle.
I am of no central size, or importance.
Yet, you have surveyed me, and
Drawn lines around me to state your rights of these boundaries
Claim them as yours.
Come and build your home here,
Plow your fields, and plant your seeds,
So there is no uncertainty, or question.
That you have ignited me like no other.
You are the spark that burnt down Chicago,
And quickly, you melt every piece of my form, my structures.
Breaking the safe that was around this heart,
Not to destroy, but to irreversibly change this conurbation.
Release your heat, and watch as I burn.


With wet lips,
I press you against me.
Taking in your tone, and
Your cup-shaped mouth piece,
All those raw materials that fit so perfectly,
Upon these parts that hold you.
With each blow, your structure becomes warmer,

As the rhythm of each breath that I breathe so deeply into you,

Exits your bell,
Lush and sometimes out of tune.
We can only strive for a semi perfect.

Go ahead, copyright these sighs that flow from the internal me.
So, they may be privilege to you and
That we might live once again with melody,
As we tuck one another into our front pockets.
Next to quarters stamped 68’ and, 78’.
As you teach me how to strike new tones by means of this tongue.
Triple and double, I am composed.

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