cartography of me, vol: I

it's not a house shaped after a viola, though i wish it were-
gardens in the f-holes, along the fingerboard, skirting scroll-
shelter in a belly, with hallways scented as all the pain it took to grow-
this thing made of trees, the gut of sheep, & rich in coal from beneath-
texture, resonate, run, run, run-
this space shelters anyone, fill in the blanks as you see it in your moment-
& if the keys loose their tune, allow it-
& if the bridge slips a step, play it-
where your bow meets coal is where you hold the world-
a saddle with no time for pitch perfection-
play off the imperfection and chose what you art will entail-
release, fluidity, run, run, run, run, run

things which can be "drawn"

lines, string, out, pictures/images, cards, pistols, numbers, cards, a bath, & quarter, straws, to a close, blinds, a match or competition, together