local_library Slack Jaw Symphony

by S.D. Parsons

Published in Issue No. 7 ~ April, 1997

This narrow, wheat stalk pleasure
resonant with wet, terpenic ghosts.

This silent space
like single, pure notes
of wrung indulgence.

This impoverished conductor,
his cello orchestra
tuned each at half-key intervals
in slack-jaw symphony,

Where, pinned with taxidermist proof
against tenantless wall,
where remnant shadows
substitute for lovers —

This glass jar of dried flowers,
crushed petals brackish, black,
curled like swirling strata
of fossilized bones;

These layers of love
you sift through expertly,
where even the whiplash comedy
of your tongue can not dissipate
frail moments we turn
facing, hiding behind
smiles of yesterday.

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S.D. Parsons spends the majority of his time traveling the world in search of the perfect cappuccino. A Zen Buddhist at heart, he feels the downfall of all Western Civilization can be traced directly to man's inability to accept his neighbor's God. He says: "We stand on the cusp of great understanding, but our ignorance blinds us, keeps us from seeing the miracles unfolding right before our eyes."