Fruit of the Fruitless

So much sloshy thinking bears no fruit:
solitude keeps its own poor counsel

As moss drip of desire pools & stagnates
swelling the wrong joints
in blotchy dysfunction

only to seep through torn tissue
leaking from the undone fiber of skin pages



I went from paradiddle to embouchure
:from keeping a pulse I took
to floating a trill high above the fray

See, the music stand felt frightfully
warmer than the mosh floor melée

I yearned to fall amongst rock'n riot grrls
but never could lock in follow-step
til I slunk into the dance studio

O ballerina kisses, fruitless curiosity
unfulfilled in a night's pinch
(grope? fumble? collapse?)

Alone in my tower of babble
I mourn for the dead: overwhelmed
by spirits I make liquor my business