an Opportunist’s Broken Records

input: side i

if these tongues spoke algebraically / we’d replace each of our letters with numeric precision / shouldering song though meager the chord, / perfecting a stranger’s conversation to recite / in practice / tooth meets gum, / vaseline smothers my lips / or the obscene withdrawal of a cry / unfurling / clawing open a mouth closed shut by its own palate / on the schoolyard i first dusted off lead / red stall and clay tile / running my irises dry from exposure / my lips remain chapped with skinned whispers / caressing the air in sorrow, evaporating / now plagued with condensation / the ones accustomed realize a sharp trill; / my voice hinders the exhausted ear, / lost in the mind’s arithmetic / i am the syllable that can’t be left unattended / my muse lives in the language of other / these lyrics aren’t a product of song / they circulate in the grooves indentured / a protractor’s unruly servant / the disc spins, reciprocates what it hears / i study each note / exhaling after asphyxiation

output: side ii

we’d seek compromise on a fire escape to hell / when this desire eclipses blasphemy / where profanity whistles from the windows above / do you recall the tunes they’d hum / oxygen was their construct, melody is our tenant / how long will these years linger / my diaphragm is lulled to silence, pleaded hair catches wind of daggers, / canines that’ll slit their throats / wordlessly / we yield our beloved speech, looped / into mere artifacts / impaired cassettes; / no longer strangers reverberating / the common vowel / the dialogue wanes off momentarily, / an ode to fallen heroes, / scratched into the palm of my stylus / we have what several can’t think to fathom / we do not speak without bending our necks / they do not approach us until we revert to them / no price will be accepted nor offered / if we decimate, we must prove intact / there is a voice where coercion isn’t