In one room a radiorooms
moan of clarinet
wail of saxophone
with intense
with delight
with frequent
and forever

bumpa bumpa bumpa

like the heartbeat
like blood flailing at the temples
like giant steps in baby shoes
like a blind bird flying

bumpa bumpa

let me scream
let me out
let me call the name of something that has not been named
and feel the dream of a starless night
when no one
and nothing
feeling anything more than

the bumpa th bumpa th bumpa

and you holding onto
the tempo of a bass fiddle
groaning against the hurt
crying out with the carvings of pain
the agony of again and again
like a shower spitting its water
across the inside and edges of your misery
oh glory
oh glory
please again please

bumpa ba bumpp ba ba

In the other room a tv
the tedious whine of a woman
the whimper of a rogue
and the sensuous
thrum of a certain song
to the words and sounds
there are pictures, mind drawn


in this room a skillet
sausage sizzles in a skillet
sauce bubbles in a pot
and the comfortable
microwaving of a potato
adding to the entire flavor
of a lazy Sunday afternoon

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