Looking Glass. 2nd Draft

July 22, 2009

Some people hear notes instead of words.
Someone speaks, an orchestra plays
birds sing, radios breath.
Some people see music in sentences.

And words are keys on a pianos face.
Words are there in the falling rain.
Words are phrases, bars, choruses.
Words are colours, that sound like vortexes.

Words are just sounds.

But then a saxophone is a women walking
in the middle of the night
while someone’s talking
into her phone.

A piano playing is a tiny home
on the top of a hill,
with the moon like a bone
and the sky like a dress.

A nine bar blues
is a word like sex
repeated, insistantly
over again.

And a riff is a dream
you can pack in a chest.
And a score is sheet
pulled over a bed.

And a congo is chanting a name.
A trumpet is scatting a phrase.
A cello’s describing the shape of a neck
A saxophone’s saying it feels like a wreck

Some people hear words
Some people sing.

Imagine it

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