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Poem: Haircut

I will no longer 
be your penitence
each lock, opened,
each strand, freed.

Some people go for that kind of thing

but I have witnesses
trailing down my cheeks,
each tress, shortened,
each hair, fallen,

and I just can’t get used to the idea,

that I can’t
be your penitence,
and like these
strands of hair,

you have slid through my fingers.
















~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As far as poetry is concerned, I’ve been a bit stuck lately. I was looking for ideas to jump-start things and one was “write a poem about a haircut.” As you can imagine, my first thought was Sha Goyjo.

Well, maybe you can’t imagine.

I've been lagging in general on my writing, and it's not bound to get better anytime soon.  Why?  Well, let's just say it involves singing and takes me back in time a couple of decades.  I haven't tried to read sheet music in a really long time, and I've forgotten waaaaay more than I thought I had.  But I'm trying to at least keep up on Murder in the Ferns, since I'm on the last part of the plot arc (!).
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