The missing bulb

Of all the words in infinity

there is but one that’s just right

Like reaching into the darkened skies

to pluck a star so bright

I pull it down and plug it in

to complete the string

You are the exacting gem I want

amongst the everything

 

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vibrations

vibrations

in perfect sync

with the quiver

of my cells

every pluck

my heart swells

guitars, harps,

ukes, violins

banjos, cellos,

mandolins

they all sing

with their entrancing strings

matching the pulse in me

trembling

harmony

Fair-weather Friend

My joy is gone

with the sun

but was that me at all?

My woeful winter

could be my center

My fair-weather friend,

leads me on.

  

All the fancies and the foils

those sweltering nights encourage

leave me when frost bites hard.

The lump that’s left

is the real me, I guess

That boisterous party girl

is a facade 

built by summer’s

glimmer-prismic holographs.

  

She cares not 

about the worries

in my frigid core,

that fair-weather friend,

damned doppelganger.

Reports say she’s South,

basking in radiance

while I am here 

crawling through fog 

and puddles

of quiet sorrow.

 

I know she returns

because I give her substance,

soul;

and I tolerate her

so I can be included

in the follies of

unfledged communes.

 

 So pathetic and dismal am I

that half of me leaves

for half of the year.