Sunday, January 24, 2010


It was the drumming.
That constant tap
Tap tap tap
He would do on anything.
And I do mean anything.
Guitarist fingers
With Kurt Cobain Callouses
So deep it hurt to hold his hand.
And that humming.
Or whistling.
Or anything.
His very existence had a tonality
A meter and rhythm
That I was never sure if I matched.
In fact
I'm pretty sure I didn't.
No one really did.
But it didn't really matter
I suppose.
Cause no one could quite match mine.
I wasn't made of music,
But he couldn't understand
How I could sit.
So still.
And read from
"that goddamn textbook,
you know I'm
more interesting than anything
that happened way-the-fuck back
I told him about the decadence of Roman Emperors.
Rock Stars before there was Rock.
And he gave me a grin.
One that was just a little
Too goofy for a super-duper-star.
Next week he had a new song.
I was no muse,
It was fun to pretend.

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