Landis Everson

Woof

Can I sublet your headphones
or rent the vacancy of music empty of your voice
but held over?
I’ll climb any tough soundtrack,
hold your hat to check your headgear.
Churches make amends for steeples.
Pealing.

Pride hangs us between off and on, all made up
as we go along.
I’ll rhyme words like hot and cool
make a slow song hit 80 in reverse
yell it back to you full throttle
to race the dead.

They’re still broadcasting your favorite.
It’s thumping by the riverside.
It’s about
that time you circled back while I slept.
What I pick up isn’t rust,
dried songs or your discarded footprints

I pick up where you used to die,
the vibration
doesn’t stop. A long time ago
before the bullrushes came
the music only pretended
it turned you off.