When I Sing by Allison Abrams

The human voice is wretched, weak, unforgiveable, chain-smoker, cracked-nipple, skanky, slut, whore, filthy, rotten, dirt rags and a pile of dimes.

The human voice is love, life, lust, longing, levels, losing sight, losing pain, losing myself, losing the world, hanging by a thread from the sky of hellish notions, utter nonsense.

But, it makes sense to me.

Nothing seems clearer than when I sing.

Nothing sprints a kite of melodies into my soul, stitching it to my lower intestine and up through my blood to my neck, then running off smugly, like when I sing.

 “Á Chloris!”- Chloris listens and seems to echoe back to me the same phrase.

But, only when I sing.