company

when I can't conceive one more marriage of notes,
they're already tossing the bouquet.
then turning 'round
to march down the aisle
in another dapple ensemble,
sweeping a train
of more instruments than I can name
over lyrics tossed
like petals from the rose.

where I can't even manage a paragraph
without falling irrevocably
into bad metaphor,
lost again in what one idea
can make of another,

when rather than blending,
I should toss them, let them
bounce
crash and shatter paint flecks
that I can fit together,


a puzzle that at least
has a picture of its ending--
more so than a paper
with a set number of lines
that I can only fumble to fill.

--
Title is somewhat prompt; bigger prompt is this. I've been watching the live feed all day, and it's been amazing--unlike my poetry today.