A thought

OK, Cyndi Lauper, How Dare You

matter to me. I’ve been naked to your music,
kissed the man back. We’re accidental
accentuations. But I’ve chosen your song
“Money Changes Everything” as my funeral

home hymn. Passion isn’t the worst companion
into the Void. Not that we’ll be flesh to flesh.
Not that I matter to you. The money of meaning,
the money in meandering, the money in means.

I’m a man singing “Girls Just Want To Have Fun”
because gender can’t be generalized. I’ve danced
to you who is a strange woman in my strange world.
After a gasp, I’ve allowed you to hear my breakable heart.

Ryan Cabrera Music Review

Ryan Cabrera, The Moon Under Water

It’s unfair but OK. Handsome singer
with a mind and no one’s mimicry as
product: listen to him. Yeah, he has
some repeating rhythms, but so does
sex if it’s good. The unruly becomes
canonical, enemies’ gods become be-
headed as history, but lovers still love,
still are clumsy in being cosmic with
their human bodies. Sure, heartbreak,
great writers get treated as humidifiers
in anthologies, but we get to kiss, comet
riders sharing skies, speed, and the blur.
Betrayal adds fascination to the next
mistake. But still it’s Valentine’s Day
when the Apocalypse shakes its ugly
ass, and some of us go shopping for
those oh roses with thorns that’ll be
delivered soon enough. Hell, Ryan,
I’d need no wine to embarrass my
prize-winning mug trying to be a spiffy
Magellan, but he’s a talent: I want to
learn from the young(er), how this man’s
beauty is a burden since he’s needs
an impeded woman who’s not me:
her name is Creation. It’s good to be
reminded why I write. Needing someone
else can also heal our hidden wounds.