Brought Into Question
When you crawl out of my pockets
And shrivel up, green autumn leaves
In my sweaty palms, I remember the
Spring just began its ascent into our
Consciousness.
You have become blunted, dulled after
Too much use in the field, shredded to
Tiny bits as I suffer from days grinding
Beat box where explanations are heard
And often misunderstood
As if they were guitar feedback noise
Thrashed into already overstuffed eardrums
Popped as you sink into amplifiers
Transform into treble, bass and gain
And think about what separates the minus sign
From the plus sign, and what it means
To go over and under and back again,
Your own personal Dow Jones crash landing,
Barely a penny held between forefinger and thumb
Used to strum
For once shiny copper, silver luminescence thrown
Into your hat as you hum a melody and
Gather them into your coffers, whether damaged
By stain of dirt, gum and grime or mailed to a
Collector who cares little for sentiment,
How you’d be lost in my wallet if I didn’t
Pull you out of your white paper trap
Of receipts, business cards and stamps
And into the light where you will soon
Vanish again…
by Micah Zevin 2010
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