A tingling wind chime
echoes in the back of my head.
The far-off tuba hum,
trapped behind my eyes.
I learnt to play my jukebox mind like a keyboard,
daring to turn up its volume again and listen.
I’m still a novice – my touch
a floating rustle of leaves – unsure
this score is actually mine.
Sorry if I seem slow
when I can't filter your mixed signals.
Sorry if I seem lost
while winding an intermezzo of thoughts.
Your voice a crackling signal
on the same channel as ideas.
It’s exhausting
having a street orchestra roaming
the unguarded caverns of my thinking.
Still, it’ll be worth it – my guilty pleasure –
when I pick up chords, when I pull the right strings,
when I savour symphonies no one else hears.
Or do you?
Jan 11
Jan 11, 2026 at 7:09 AM UTC
A tingling wind chime
echoes in the back of my head.
The far-off tuba hum,
trapped behind my eyes.
I learnt to play my jukebox mind like a keyboard,
daring to turn up its volume again and listen.
I’m still a novice – my touch
a floating rustle of leaves – unsure
this score is actually mine.
Sorry if I seem slow
when I can't filter your mixed signals.
Sorry if I seem lost
while winding an intermezzo of thoughts.
Your voice a crackling signal
on the same channel as ideas.
It’s exhausting
having a street orchestra roaming
the unguarded caverns of my thinking.
Still, it’ll be worth it – my guilty pleasure –
when I pick up chords, when I pull the right strings,
when I savour symphonies no one else hears.
Or do you?