Cassie Lewis
The Axe

Lightís embrace so soft,
it is hard to trust
that life is wrong.

Ani di Franco on the
cheap cd player.
Tinny speakers

make her, somehow,
into waterís flow.
None of this is real.

The pretty houses
bought on credit.
A vast mist descends.

I swallow large gulps of this life.
I call you across the wires.
You always answer.

This scares me.
I know there is a space
for music to play soft

as light, and dedicated.
You fragment into
particulars I donít trust: I donít

believe a word of it.
Hereís the next installment
of the cancelled show.

I hold the axe.  If
the revolution
is on television now?

Freedom stalls,
like a car stalling,
bathed in soft northern

hemisphere light,
in the dawn of a perfect day.
I suspend disbelief to exit it.

return to SHAMPOO 12