stillfugue

I finally found
my way toward contentment
for a flash in time.

You charmed me back
from a deadly hopelessness.
Why does it last for only a slice, an instant,
perhaps as long as a track –
one time, for the duration of your album?

Are you veritably
so implausibly happy,
or do you fake it
like I do?

I love
how you fake it.

And the Ah, Ah,
Ah-ah-ah
is so cliché,
but you make it function in my animus.

You are pop
but you’re faking pop.
You are an artist,
and dare I say
you have changed my life?

Each time I give Whirring a go,
all turns
inside-out,
and the purest happiness,
or is it really joy?
Is it joy?

I love
how you fake it.

You are a woman
so full, so deep,
and so sad,
you make my bones chime
in sympathetic thrill.

Oh, and your sing-song,
your nursery rhymes,
sing-song with anthem rhymes
make me devour your eyes.

I love
how you fake it.

I want you in my backyard
every night this summer,
moving in perfection
in a dance with the Universe,
doing concerts on Saturdays
with your steady, persistent drummer,
with your reliable back-up,

and then you’ll tell me every notion
about what makes art,
and I’ll be charmed
into a silence
with flames in my shoulders,
crawling down my body,
telling me
this moment is immaculate.

From where do these treacherous
harmonic arrangements come,
the ones that make me a weak puppy,
unable to walk, unable to bark,
sitting there, blabbering
in the wired, silky sound,
wagging my tail,
flooding the room
with love
from my syrupy fur?

I love
how you fake it.

And when I realize what a fool
I am for you,
descend back into my closet
of dark madness,
the painful lifelessness,
I’ll ask god why something
can’t be done to have you
sit next to me,
to remind me
things might be okay,
to tell me you can overlook
my defects, that you will enjoy
a few moments with me.

But I stop here, frigid
in the heat, empty, foolish,
knowing I could never hope
to meet you,
feeling foolish,
waving my arms
bigger than a conductor,
happily stomping feet,
and dreaming as though
I’m smartly moving my body
as I begin your album again,

the one with the shattered sounds,
knowing it will never leave me.
I love how you fake it
until it’s real.

The Greatest Light Is The Greatest Shade.
Show me. Show me how. make me shiver.
A calm day will come.
I believe you.
I trust you.

I love
how you fake it.

.

P.S. – Go on and go see some musical genius: