Song 10

Your shining form has set these words ablaze on my tongue;
They dance like flames performing grand ballets on my tongue.

To such angelic grace poetic flights
Come to seem like broken-down clichés on my tongue.

I pray that soon your wondrous shape ignites
More quickly-flashing fireworks displays on my tongue.

My thoughts of you arouse these piquant bites,
Like spicy gumbos or crawfish etouffees on my tongue.

As every Pentecostal flame alights,
I feel a course of holy-hot flambés on my tongue.

Each dream I have brings scores of lovely sights
That leave a zesty honey-coated glaze on my tongue.

Parades of stunning heavenly delights
Deposit ever-louder hip-hoorays on my tongue.

Your absence now my lonely spirit spites
And, fully flush with fevered grief, inveighs on my tongue.

These pleading words resemble men in tights,
Performing as they do robust jetés on my tongue.

My verse is fraught with fractures, slips, and slights;
A patchwork of art like one of Miró’s or Paul Klee’s on my tongue.

Swarms of rapturous thoughts ascend like kites,
Despite the lonesome leaden weight that lays on my tongue.

This string of “almost”s, “nearly”s, and “not quite”s—
A subtle tang of homemade mayonnaise on my tongue.

Against my sense my willful spirit fights,
And overrides the “nevermores” and “nays” on my tongue.

To meet my failing will your scent excites
A raucous cloud of “bravo”s and “olé”s on my tongue.

Its thoughts of you my pious heart recites
And places every eulogizing phrase on my tongue.

Yet still I doubt your distant heart requites,
Calling forth more “Qui?”s, “Warum?”s, and “¿Qué?”s on my tongue.

This qualm my flowering eloquence benights
Until your presence casts reviving rays on my tongue.

I dream of when my world is set to rights,
And every word with joyfulness sashays on my tongue.

In the meantime, every thought invites
Ersatz expressions, like men with bad toupees on my tongue.

This flat existence in your wake incites
Rebellious urgings quick to stir and upraise on my tongue.

Your praises wait like ever-true valets on my tongue,
So stay, O bright one, and live in many ways on my tongue.

[15:00 / singing / ghazal / tongue / “bright one” / Playing Angels statue]