guitar

[Wildcard]

Hi Philatone,
I'm coming in late on this one but I wanted to give you my thoughts anyway. I have had a love affair with guitars for a long time now and so my interest was piqued when I saw the title. Having said that, I might change the title to something alittle more descriptive of the content. jmo

A mane of cobwebs
wrapping a head of pegs that turn
like the hands
of an unwound clock; --if this old guitar never gets played then when do the pegs turn? Or are you saying something else?

your hollow body
abandoned by vibration
and the spiders that called you home, only
to starve beneath your ribs, -- I like everything about this stanza especially 'ribs'. It gives the guitar a personality by comparison to human anatomy

you sit with the patience of
a river
in a torn canyon.

Does the stairwell
remember your songs,

how they would course
up and down the banister --all this time I thought it was 'bannister'
like an usher in a hall,

trebles floating to the mirror
watching themselves,
basses slogging around --it's a small thing but I just don't like 'basses' as much as I like 'trebles' possibly because it seems a little predictable to me that you would hit the bass notes next. Maybe just say 'bass notes slogging around . . .'??
the lower shelves
of the bookcase?

Would walls inch closer -- my favorite phrase all told. Not exactly sure why. Something about the phrase makes me really see the walls straining to hear
the moment a string stirred from sleep,

or floorboards beg
to carry your bag
when brought on display,
a fire
trapped in a maple cage?

Or has everyone forgotten your voice,
as some forget faces
after years of distance; did you notice
even my surprise when I found you here

put your neck in my arms
and heard a note as it tumbled
down your throat

The last bit is awesome to me and the humanization of the instrument is flawless IMO.

Great work. Thanks for sharing.