he broke his old guitar.
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he couldn't make it sing.
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the strings had grown so worn
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they made his fingers bleed.
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soon after the event he made an acquaintance
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whose fingers bled as well,
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forming scabs that never heal.
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would you play a song for me?
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some wilting melody
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that drifts over the sunflowers
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to some far away country.
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won't you play a song for me?
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with words like push pins?
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they stick into my heart...
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and bleed out resonance
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these songs are all asleep.
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they lay dormant inside of me.
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this vacant recitation..i can't resuscitate them.
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won't you play a song for me?
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let the words escape your mouth!
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scream out what you've lost!
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in song it will be found.
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he broke his old guitar.
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he smashed it on his bedpost,
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where he used to dream up lovers
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kissing his forehead, "good morning."
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-----------------
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An Acquaintance Strikes a Chord
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| The Good Life |
