My second improvision from this week riffs Jillian Weise's "Sleep Talk"
Sleep Talk
The grit and grumble of your voice
before waking is a topographer,
a priest after one glass of scotch
or an underwater cameraman.
Even better are the casual clauses
you let slip from half-sleep
Up is no down, says the topographer.
Fire and grimstone, says the priest.
Get that on tape, says the cameraman.
The cameraman fits you best.
In your dream, you wear thick glss
masks and oxygen tanks, breathe
in deep, droning swallows and swim
after barracudas and sharks.
Not long until morning comes
like the squid that flashes electric blue
when aroused.
For my riff, I wanted to use another form of sensory to form the foundation of my piece. Instead of using the element of voice, I wanted to use the sense of a rough touch, much like sandpaper, and connect those senses to related professions. The piece below was my result.
Drunk on Touch
The callused scars of your hands
soothing circles on my stomach are a carpenter,
a mechanic after a can of Bud-Light
or a ten-year guitarist.
Your profession haunts you in your sleep
it is quite actually charming
Saw with the grain, not against it, says the carpenter.
The carburetor’s shot, says the mechanic.
You gotta tune that string, says the musician.
Really the carpenter has all the answers.
You murmur about sawdust and nubby-knobbed wrists,
ripe from the smell of freshly cut metal
wires wrapping ‘round your other fingers until they
bleed. You strum my pain con los dedos.
Then you awaken with the drunken sun
rising slowly over the horizon like a ruby-red
whore with a bad hangover.
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