easy questions for Sunday Morning coffee time
What falls out of me naturally?
What kind of woman lives at my core?
What music arrives with me as I enter a room?
What is the highest desire I want most?
What am I willing to do to get what I want?
What makes me feel delicious?
What particular things spark my joy switch?
What do my hands itch to touch, feel, carry forward?
What music jazzes me, dazzles me, rattles me, discovers me, uncovers me?
What joy drives me, stops me in my tracks, floods me, starves me into leave my comfort zone?
What is my greatest desire?
My ecstatic pleasure?
My most sensual movement?
My highest form of worship?
đź’ž
Amy Lloyd
Who
would decry
instruments—
when grasses
ever so fragile,
provide strings
stout enough for
insect moods
to glide up and down
in glissandos
of toes along wires
or finger-tips on zithers—
though
the mere sounds
be theirs, not ours—
theirs, not ours,
the first inspiration—
discord
without resolution—
who
would cry
being loved,
when even such tinkling
comes of the loving?
đź’ž
Grasses by Alfred Kreymborg
life: acoustic & amplified 