The Lesions of Devotion

Every day I set myself down on the freshly cut lawn and strip myself bare. I take my guitar and finger the frets and pick at the strings, listening for dissonance. My life is dissonance. I twist the tuning pegs until each string sounds bright. Then I kneel, calves pointing behind me, kneecaps facing forward. All exposed to the breeze. I close my eyes and play the melody.

I play a song of obeisance.

Shiny, shiny.

Shiny boots of leather.

Wear me down.

Heavy on my neck,

heavy on my spine.

Lashes self-inflicted.

Back spasms and

acceptance.

My body is a beacon, chosen with a purpose.

Weighty, the responsibility.

As I settle down with kneecaps facing forward, calves pointing backward,

I pluck each string, feel the reverberation of air displaced around spring coil and metal.

Twisting inches at a time the tuning pegs, I come to a startling realization:

I will die here.

All exposed to the breeze. I close my eyes and play the melody.

I play a song of obeisance.

But still I sing that song of obeisance.

I am tired, weary.

I could sleep for a thousand years.

A thousand dreams would awake me.

Different colors made of tears.

As I strum, she marches.

Shiny, shiny.

Shiny boots of leather.

As I pick and finger to be free.

I kneel and perform

to the lesions.

The lesions

of devoted.

*

Author’s Note:

Nod to The Velvet Underground and their classic song Venus in Furs for lyrical and thematic inspiration.