This is the first piece of what I plan to be a four-part poem. Unfortunately the next three are still just vaguely shaped at this point. I'll post the remaining pieces here as I finish them, and then the fully assembled work at my main site (FrancisScudellar.Com).
By Francis Scudellari
I. Love is
a two-headed hook, that bobs as she toes
this cunning line. It cuts through the muddy
reverb of a wax-spun groove, swirling round
tar-black to reach the Day-Glo hypnosis
at its center. A trembling voice tucks in
among the hiss and crackling pops. Echoes
found as her left arm floats, extending
a turntable's journey to spiral back
on that jumble of a first rainy day
they met, dripping in the coffee shop's queue.