hearing a slide down loose, metal strings
is all the cure that, that is required
a simple caress of the metal finger
resounds opaque sound
that soothe the insecurities of a scent
as long as the tales have been left in the notes,
before the journey into endless sands of the candied land
i do not know whether this sweet taste
will be a fired breath
or cherubs sounding horns
or if it even exists outside of the bankrupt vault that is my head
so I’ll sleep at night as i imagine
a sun baked young man
with lent on sunglasses
and pin striped pants
standing outside of a corner pawn shop
after obtaining warmth
and is painstakingly using his ears
and his mind
to know the tune that had been recorded
ten years before his birth
on a rain drenched evening
when the slacked rye was drunk
and the lucky stripes smoked
and the space between fretting was loved
knowing this will make the future move
less like a vision of the earl king
and more of a hold from mother
when the sniffles have overcome
and father won’t go near
Probably spring 1999, though severely edited February 2021
