CAN'T SHAKE
I can't shake this rock and roll good time, this crazy
metropolis in my head. I want to, but just can't. Piano
wires are laced through my skull; stupid guitar chords
clutter my brain. Mozart was pop music for his day,
but it never amounted to spit, all that unamplified
magic : priests and recumbent Gods, fiddlers on the
lam. I never want to hear a thing again but my ears
are always alert and my mouth keeps singing along,
or wanting to try. I'm taking choral pot-shots at the
world around me, sitting on a street corner with my
hat turned up so people can throw coins. They do.
Sometimes I just want to give them back and ask,
instead, for something real : daughters and sons,
dollars and cents, packets of gold or diamonds
and souls. Right now I'll take anything else.
No comments:
Post a Comment