out of 3037 songs
I can't stumble into a single
note for myself
-either they're all married,
or it seems that everyone left
is set to the right,
already waiting in line to be wed
at the drop of E minor
and a time signature
to dot the i
in your prenuptial agreement
-only the keynotes signed.
but I..
walk to the beat
of an indifferent drummer
boy, who used to know his way
through the wayward
shores of Brooklyn Maine
-until my sore throat
unclothed in the banjo
that danced around a dusty folk
song-
and resulted in a rim shot-
gun blast
to the head.
his death broke my heart;
and without his percussion
I fell in love
off-beat
-and never seemed to find
my muse, in the music
that only believed in a tenor's
pick-up line;
I sing baritone solos
holding the pant leg of a song called home
-either moving too slow
or I come off as too forward
-depending on the murmurs
that I uncovered the day I tried
to recreate the drum's
words.
the playlist skips
hand in hand with every relationship
in a tin-can
bound by string
-innocent as children
they sing.
alone, in a sea of wedding bells
mixed on a couple of turn tables
that held hands while they scratched
the X's over my eyes,
while I searched for another
solo heart
betwen the fingers
of fast-forward..
I sing out of key,
and my tone was broken
on the jetty that day I listened
to the sea
to help me fall asleep;
I wrote out the lyrics
and sipped the tune
nights after-
from the bottle of gin
I slipped them in to
-until I licked through
the glass
after a year of kissing
mutes.
my records are all
out of date;
these needles taste
like syringes,
without the high notes-
but I just need someone
to sing with,
because these
songs are
all so
cold.