I'm interrupting Avatar Week to bring you some news: this week, I became the first poet ever to be censored from KXCI's show A Poet's Moment. Although the show's host, Ron Cipriani, recorded three of my poems and had planned to air the second one for the usual cycle of time slots, someone else at the station decided to pull it after the first airing. 

Although I heard that the problematic phrase "blue balled" was cited as the reason for censoring the poem, I rather agree with my friend Kristen, who suggests that the poem's overall sensuality may have triggered the pushback, since our Puritanically rooted culture is uncomfortable with sensuality and eager to make the leap from there to sexuality. The words "blue balled" would be easier to latch onto and complain about than the poem's overall tone. Ron is playing the other poem of mine that he recorded this week, one that I would call a lark, instead of this better poem, written in the voice of my husband's musical instrument, which, I imagined, might be jealous of me. That's right, this is a poem about the relationship between a musical instrument and a musician, and it was too racy for radio. So, without further ado, here is the poem.

Lament of a Double Bass

For Stella

your arms encircle 

breadth my shoulders curling

I missed tickle your caress

my neck your heat

sweat darkening grain

of my back

split in two

pieces glued together

memory we sing

glide drop vibrate pull

out the bottom chord

who? I smell her on you

your fingers find sweet spots

like no other’s under spotlight

our song other strings

chorus of sighs

who left you horny blue-balled

undercut? not me love never

two-timing bastard like it triple

meter like to give it to me good

glide drop vibrate pull it out long

lift off slow she can’t respond like this

you know pluck pluck sforzando

pianissimo spiccato fake it hang on

we’ll get back in you want to play

don’t hang me in the bass room

worse than lonely

music we still can’t get under it love

memory depths knots rings fiber

maple huddled together forest

cool breeze my arms waving wide full

turn of seasons passed a day highs lows

no time to achieve anything music

memory men who cut blocked

long hours without you

music is splitting endured