This poem was written
For you, in the key of F#,
At a persistent tempo of 160bpm.

So, will you bring the timpani,
And sousaphone out from the
Back of this page, and let the

Brass roar at forte. It’s a glorious
Sound despite the clumsy trombone
Sliding off key; that my shaky hand trying to

Get it down right this time. The
Notes are there, and the feeling is
There, but it takes a lot to get it right,

And for one second we will feel the
Same thing in unison. I fear sometimes
My eye has surpassed my hand.

This poem was written with the passion
Of half drunken midnight karaoke in a
Bay Area China Town, but the audience still claps for the effort.

This poem was a song transposed for
The coyote barbershop quartets, to
Sing me awake at night.

This poem was written, because
I don’t want to love you anymore,
And I’m trying to love us, in all

Our beautiful discord, and for
The one time in a thousand where
The notes fall in to place,

As the wind instruments hum
And the choir sings at fortissimo
And for one second you hear what
I've been trying to get out, like a bad singer
Finally hitting the right note, we will feel the
Same thing at once, and our minds swing
Together in time.