Nov 2017
The piano jingles, it speaks
The brass is smiling, it creaks
The ensemble's finally ready to play
They are all here so people make way
The music starts, bass moanin'
Albert, Charles, Art groanin'
All these beautiful sounds, just like life
But I don't hear any of them
None of this is real
The brass is smiling, it creaks
The ensemble's finally ready to play
They are all here so people make way
The music starts, bass moanin'
Albert, Charles, Art groanin'
All these beautiful sounds, just like life
But I don't hear any of them
None of this is real
A poem from earlier this year, one that I didn't necessarily want to publish, because it was before I had any confidence in my ability to return to poetry. I decided to put it out now that I'm feeling less and less drive to make more, because I feel like people deserve to read me at my weakest.
