Where did all the Yokos go?

The women who can tear apart a soul

and seamlessly and without

a second breath

stitch it back together

and create a new psyche,

not a monster created in a back street lab

with Guinness flowing in the bar next door

and the brutal sound of a Karaoke machine

ripping apart a classic tune,

but with the energy to change them for the better;

the muse dies quickly when there

are no more Yokos…

 

causing revolutions in the world

and ballads in which to smile

and use against each other in strange

symbolic ways, and chants and chants

with chance taken to make a new song sing

with the brightness of a peacock fluffing its crown

and wooing the pleasant but plain…

 

… No more Yokos…

 

…but who needs a muse when you

see the delicate with divinity preserved

everywhere you look.

Ian D. Hall 2015