I wrote this last night at the Village Vanguard.
/ / /
it takes a certain kind of person
to pull off that many non-ironic flowers on the front of her shirt
to wear his hair in a ponytail in defiance of age stereotypes
to don red Chuck Taylors more appropriate for a man with fewer responsibilities
to absorb the needy stares of this late-night basement
to not believe that the knot in your intestines was tied by her careless fingers
to assume this verse is free when the truth is I paid for it
to sit beneath all those photographs but not know your history
to step over, to walk around, to pretend not to notice, to look away
to sit and scribble in the dark while the man in front of the curtain spills his blood
to run the tips of your fingers across the soft skin just below your throat, knowing everyone is looking
to drink that drink like you never raised your hand to another human being
to remember what I wore that night but only because you didn’t like it
to play those particular notes in that particular order
to not know that the other half of this arrangement is that you are supposed to look over here
**YOW!!!!**
Good reading – I can see you writing quietly while the band plays. When the music enters your consciousness, it can guide your senses to places you might not go under “normal” circumstances.
Don’t stop!
Richard