jealousy of the musicians mistress. caught between.

his presence reminded me of
that precious work of art
the kinda piece that when you leave
the gallery,you say....
"im glad I was never that messed up"

often times translations of pain require pain.

and you required more than just a handshake.


this country music town
its filled up so high
with millions of notes
all the same
just arranged differntly.

all music men,all so dedicated to their art


my mother used to say

"muscians,artist,and gypsies are not the type to love,or to love you"
they have a mistress
and she demands
and she is beautiful
and she is rude.

The way he looked at his piano
made her face turn green
the way he gently stroked those ivory keys

first thing in the morning
last thought before he sleeps
his afternoon pickme up
his everything.

and why notes do not know how to hold you
when you are lonley and crying
and how melodies seem so seductive so enticeing.

they do not have
lips
and they do not have teethe
they do not know three words
which your ears need.

does your guitar have two hands to hold you?
and will it dance with you at parties
and cup your cheeks?

will you press your lips against the phone
and expect a kiss from the other line
how did you two meet?


these men they create materpieces
all written for a muse

sooner or later she will leave you
and you are left alone
in a white room


with ivory keys

And I will clothe myself in black
and cover my eyes
to conceal the strength

I can leave. I can leave.

your mistress was too lovely


to ever put her in
the back seat.