1691

TRUST MUSIC

You have to be a maniac,
Talkative, huddling behind a rock
With a firearm

And I for one am relieved
Never to have been there. To be sure
I've had lonely days and years

Sweating in the enormous soft clamp
Of the headphones, tilted
Forms sliding off the case

As some detail in the production,
A xylophone counterpoint
To the saxophone's lead, or maybe

For once I get how breath
Is what they mean by phrasing,
The weight of vowels

Bouncing to scatter, a broken
Necklace, mascara, some mild
Curse on the body -- no heroics

For a month. Of course my sensations
Aren't yours, do you think jokes
Are automatically sentimental?

Waiting for tickets.
And then, the day of the show
Playing the entire discography.