Liquid Simplicity

April 2007

LIQUID SIMPLICITY

By Scott Murphy & Jeff Ludlum

Liquidity is a near constant for me,
Seathing flow of grain and peace and sweat and love.
fluid down the face, spilling from the strings, moving target, truth.
I've sought it in the tepid streams of my rapid pulse,
felt in the darkness, calming perfection.
In the palms of another, cupped in anticipation,
Strength and certainty of the engine leaving the station,
The invitation to go as strong as the weight of staying
The desire to do nothing versus the burn to keep playing.
Fretting over all that courses through my tangled finger tips

Sure of the ache in my belly and the tequila that put it there.
And the hand that wields the glass, bottle, neck and string.
Trusting the hand and the ache, and the flow, open and free.
In the gut, like the harmonics perfect pitch from belly deep
Indicative of the peace I seek.
And find inside, not out,
That's what it's all about.
And found in the hollow recesses of hardwood and the softest heart assessed
Where flesh and floor meet, oft that's where it all settles,
To the grounded and ground, planted firm, upright and simple.

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The simple man pulls the threads to finds the unraveling begin,
String through fingers, unsure of what he might win.
The sin is in his thoughts, actions seem for naught,
Filled to the brim with all he's bought, against the very premiss he'd been taught.
Shadows, my friend, that's where you find truth and touch,
Pliable, ready, emptied of so very much.
Yet full of something yet unrealized; steely in sight,
Third eye not blind, all-knowing, certain of what is attainable sans spite.
But the seer sees only the scene, actors and stage,
What lays behind the curtain, or on the next page.

Orange the rage that settles the audience as curtain draws,
Clear the first note on the violin as dies down the applause.
And in steps the simple man, simple heart, simple smile, but not so simple part,
"God damn, that was quite a fart!"
Smell radiates, seeps and spills, evacuate cries the crowd!
Then up steps the woman in a shroud and demands, "Be Still!"
"Your money paid, our toils laid, take your damn seats!"
Somewhere a soul screams out in the street,
Penatrating the brick and mortar into the scene it finds
A crowd looking under the rows for nickels, quarters, dimes.