Carolyne Mas

“When Carolyn's Not Singing

(1) Dancing on glass, crystal drops ignore the sweeping motion of rubber hands.

The calypso beat of boredom stuttering down the interstate.

In some Jezebel's womb volcanic images wait to be carved and versed together.

This is a too familiar scene: the same billboards, fuel stops, coffee shops, and radar traps; the bridges, the graffiti scarred overpass proclaiming another rock n' roll resurrection, and the stripped down Rambler no one wants.

On a dull wheel impatient fingers drum nervously-- the leitmotif of a soul in transit.

(2) Tiring eyes. Vague shadow roadside. Mystic reverie. Frail figure. Rain.

"Hop in!" (The anxious sirens. The burning squeals of rubber.)

"I just put in one of your tapes." (Turn up the volume. Check out the reverb of yesterday's magic.)

"I can't believe it's you." (Thundering leads cracking through dawn's skyline.)

"It's wicked out there." (The wailing of off-key horns rudely cutting in and out.)

Towards the city, like a child uncovering from a dream, the sun begins its crawl through the clouds.

(3) Who hears the song that isn't sung? Who reads the poem that isn't written?

She pleads in stereo, "No matter what I do... it all comes back."

But old songs are only memories, and Carolyn's not happy when she's not singing.

At the storm's end, near the cherished rainbow, the city appears.

The sun lifts its smiling face above the fading clouds.

In a downtown cafe Orpheus waits to greet us with new songs and new poetry.” - Gregg Weinlein