Guilty gooey pleasures for hours
on a Wednesday morning
while crunching numbers until
they told me the sickest
tales with large red balloons
bouncing off of elephants,
and I wonder, why is the music
so good to me, and why is this
raggedy random set of tunes
sending charges of blue love
through my bones and making
my soul vibrate, making my
eyes long for all of the deepest
grays from the rain and laying
me to rest in the puffy remains
of a victorious parade celebrating
the temporary manic goodness
of a man who yesterday was
meant for jumping or crying or
hiding, but here he is and
by Wednesday afternoon,
there is a new trigger and she
may not have known how her small
action might play a large part
in deflating a balloon and cutting
off the elephant’s trunk, so please,
please bring back the music.
It was gone on Thursday,
too, but bring it back,
and set it in me.