29 September. Band Plays.

Four musicians sit
at a table.
Two violinists
A banjo player
+ my ol’ gee-tar player.
My fingers smell of cigarettes.
My breath it hints of booze.

The sins + shames of my father are free
for me to choose.

My player he talks of writers.
He plays in open chords + sings
heartbroken songs.

Here. A corner am I. My eyes on ink
+ musician prize.

The crowd around me talks of brew,
ears all blinded of my chosen music’d few.
What is a musician when they do not play?
A person holding a tool of leisure, grace + taste.

Harmonied song the two men play. A voice not
listened but definitely heard by all roomed.
The violin, she sings but not heard like my
eyes’ divine.

Eyes of vision. Eyes of sight. How I wish
to hold you tonight.

Three musicians sit at a table. My musician
he stands + looks around. What he thinks.

What I know. The Eternal Difference
Away he goes out through the front door.
Dissolved in smoke + song of
London’s All.

Four musicians at a table.
A rogue man to have joined.
Accordion, squeezing in
+ out in rhythmed,
musician’s time.

My Eyes Divine
still outside.
In a Corner
Here I still am.
Inked fingers
with still haunted
demon’s drink breath.

To ask to be the
cigarette my Divine
lips touch is too
much – even for
a Shakespearian Hamlet
as I.
Instead contented
I will only hope to
forever be by his side.

To my Left he’s now
appeared. By definition is
he to my side.

Cruel Fate. You knew
what I meant. Instead
of 3 feet divided did I
wish to feel his hurried

Up + down +
Up again.

Five musicians sit.

And gazing alone am I.
Divided by a Diagonal line
am I to my Eyes Divine.
What he wonders +
What I mind.
Difference divided behind
Different-coloured Eyes.

Five musicians now
sit + play.
No words are spoken
but oh what minds might say.


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