if i could still tune a guitar 

i would sit with
my window open--listen 
car tire hush--that would
be the E string--
gentle sighs--
orange soda can crack--
fizz-- pop-rock kiss
my face-- these
freckles-- hush hush
exhale with each strum--
i'd find a robin to
sing A string A string--
a door bell-- service
bell-- here is the entrance
to the rings of 
the tree stumps in 
my parent's front
lawn-- the ones that used to
be trees-- the cicadas 
get a string they always get
a string-- i have yet
to out run their ambient 
compositions--
D string-- thrum thrum thrum
in their gadget teeth--
what mouth does a cicada have?
what kind of mouth 
do i have? Big enough
to swallow the old rusted 
strings-- twirl fork--
it's all in the twirl--
& every time
i open my mouth now
my teeth turn into piano
keys-- out of tune &
complaining about
how discordant my sense of
sound has become-- there--
there right above 
the telephone wires-- that's 
the G string-- bird feather
fall-- twig snap &
murmur of airplane
light laughing glow--
mocking the stars with
it's emerald blare-- it
would play trumpet if
it were in band or maybe
the french horn--
sometimes i open my
mouth & i can only 
hear the sound of a trumpet
playing TAPS like i would
from my backyard--
lips against cold silver mouth
piece-- i made air--
i shook stones--
the B is elusive-- the kinds
of sounds that are gone
before you hear them--
mom dropping pancake batter
into the iron skillet--
dad's "i love yous"
thrashing on my car window
as i drive to the supermarket 
at night to sit in the
parking lot-- take in
muffle voice & shopping
cart wheel-- the B string
is the right song coming
on the radio just as you
click the knob--
you & only you there 
as a witness-- the car is 
sound proof now--you
sing along & don't know
all the lyrics-- invent
your own-- the B string--
your own laugh-- my own
intangible laugh-- a firework
shimmering out my throat--
i just want to catch it
& make it my B string so
when i feel like no
part of me will ever ring 
again i can play & play 
until i vibrate-- sing
string-- this skin
a fret board -- a railroad
track to walk my fingers
on-- there is not train 
anymore but there is tuning
pegs & my black canvas shoes--
yes the last one-- the thin
E string farthest from
all of us that is where
the conversation plays 
again & again
the one where you say
you love me & you mean it
& the only way you
know someone loves you
is if their "i love yous"
carry a tune-- they live--
swing dance with each other
the i & the love & the you--
holding hands & kissing
each other's cheeks--
i love you is a breathing
thing-- mouth in the 'o'
of love-- it's not
big enough to trip
down into-- bit is vast enough
to drop coins down--
this wishing well-- this
trembling voice-- leaves 
broken blood vessels
across my collar bone--
leaves me strummed &
shuddering-- how could i have
swallow all those string?