Language

I think
In the language of songs
Set lists
And four-four time

You gently brush
Your awkward fingers
Across the keys
Of this speak
And stutter out
Reference phrases
Your own haikus
Built in C

You see
In comic books
And throne speeches
Your exuberance
For invisible links
I smile pretend
Where it is
You're coming from

And I wish
There was song
Or pixilated image
Enough for me to say

Conflicted with a latte
And a mind full
Of all the ways
I see us fitting into
Those old molds
Immovable and frozen
Like Han Solo
In a carbonate prison

I wish we could speak
In a language
That fits us
And all our fabulous ways

Through the fog
Of scattered birds
And broken messages
So much remains unsaid

I don't have
All the answers
Or solutions
But I've started
To dream
Of an Easter in Cuba