Connection

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A little
here
and there,
bit
by bit,
and
there exists
the
connection
short-circuited
in
the mix
of
the things
not
fixing themselves.
A
small peace,
filling
in
the gaps,
and letting
in
the
loose,
wireless,
and
often,
faulty connections
we
once had
during the yesteryear
days
before.
These
letters
offer
no support,
and
the vowels
and consonants
only
give
a
quiet
reprive
from the noise.
We
are only left
with
the distance
that
seemingly
feels indifferent
to
the situation.
This connection,
however
faint,
is vibrant
and stoic,
but we’re not
determined
enough
to fall
too deeply
in
between these
paragraphs.

M.C. Davis

Little Man

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you
would have
only felt
the tinge
of
what’s to come,
you
would have
moved
to
the front
of the class,
spend
that
free period
to
figure
out
the loose change
of geometric shapes,
or
detailed
those participles that
danced
without cause.
Remember
the
time your hand
knew
the answer,
but
your
fear
spoke up
first?

Little
Man,
if you
would
have only
known
of
what’s to
come,
then
you
would
have ran
harder,
and
fallen
quicker.
You
would have
let those answers
become
questions,
and
you would
have
made those
paths
less about being
traveled,
and more
about being experienced.

Little
Man,
remember
when your hand
knew
the answer,
but your
fear
spoke
up first?

M.C. Davis

Lose To Win

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If our
loss is
indeed
our win,
let the gloves
fall
like delicate
morsels,
and
let the fever
pitch
reduce
down to the
embers
of
what used
to
be.
If
our loss
is
indeed
our win,
let the
sky
simply become
a
yawn,
where
the spirit of
the
day is
felt only
at
the end
where the
night
just
becomes a
darker version
of
the day.
If our
loss
is indeed
our
win,
let this
poet
start new
words, with new
vowels
and consonants,
since
this
poem
just
ain’t quite
ready.

M.C. Davis

The Love Of Another

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leaves
that dance
and
shimmy
mid-air
often get
mistaken
for
their freedom,
when
the
truth is
that
they only dance
in
such
a
way to loosen
into a
better grip.
A better grip
to
allow
a warmer
spot
on
the bed
to
take hold,
or
a shift in the
arms
to
better accommodate
the
love
of
another.

M.C.Davis

Moving On Faster Than You

These lanes
are
tightly
gripped,
filled to the rim
with
the possibilities
of
those
yesteryears.
We’re
gazing into the
darkness,
like
a
moth does
after
she’s fed
on
loose light.
We’re
coming through
a
moment
of truth,
like
the time Noah
decided
to
live
beyond his
means.
See,
this poet
is moving
faster than you,
and
the wind
seems
to want
to nudge
us closer.
I’m
here,
and like our
fast
car,
we get to
let
the
brakes
fend for themselves
every
now
and
then.

M.C. Davis

Just Between Us

The morning
sun
just gave us
a
newness to this
day,
filled with the
soft
touches
and glances
that
we
decide upon
one another.

Windless
nights,
and a
nature’s
way
of calling
us
to
reveal
the subtle
nuances
that
we fall
into
so
casually.

Without too much
effort,
we
get
to remind ourselves
the
very purpose
of
our
touch,
but
all along
I
knew it
was just
between
us;
as if the
universe’s
only input
was
to
clear
the muddy
path
for us
so our dance
wouldn’t
be
disturbed.

M.C. Davis

Jive Turkey

Don’t
come at me
with
those
jazz lips,
and dissonant chords
being forced
into
mixed-up
time signatures,
this
rhythm
just started and
no
layers
of flats
or sharps
will take away
from this
chromatic
scale.

See,
ain’t no jive
turkey
worth
the fight,
or
the fever
that
comes
from fists
to
cuffs
without mental
stimulation.

See,
ain’t no jive
turkey
worth
the effort
to
hold to
those
true
convictions,
while failing
to
bring
a baton
to
the performance.

Let this
day linger
beyond the notes,
and
if we
get too far ahead of
the measures,
let’s
both decide
to
allow
legato
to
make her
sweet
moves.

M.C. Davis