Thursday, November 6, 2008

Music Lessons

The apartment can be very nice
But it can also be quite not.
Like in a prison... walls close in
The neighbors bang up from the floor
As I mix this album.
Thin walls so I'm courteous enough
To use extra light
Target loads.
At close range
It makes no difference...

Or settle back down into this oppression,
Of neighbors who think I am too loud
And cool neighbors I thought
Who didn't bother to say goodbye
When they moved out.

Pay the rent
Pay electric
Pay the overdraft
Pay the bounced check
For real this time...
Parking tickets
Auto Repair
Get another job...

One that will make me tired,
And that no one will understand,
And that I will want to leave...

Now the phone doesn't work right
Because it slipped out of my hand
And landed funny on the table.
The screen flickers on and off
But I can still make calls
Though my background image
Is a terrible, once beautiful mess
Of pixilated distortion
Where snowy mountains
And golden sunsets
Had stood.

I am not in the proper frame of mind
To call you about the press conference
Or the new demonstrations
Or chairing the meeting
Because everyone I meet
Seems to end in something bad
Or at least
Those are the only ones I can remember.

Memorable, inspiring collective action
Alone in my head
With no one else to bring it up
Is pushed out
By more pressing matters.
All of them bad.

All of them that seem to be
In cahoots with one another.
So that even the smallest positive change
Would seem a waste of time
When the odds against it
And the cards
Are stacked so high
And held so firm
By some snickering
Son of a bitch.

Apartment walls and doors and blinds
Seem to keep out all the people
I'd like to see...
And it keeps them
From seeing me...
But not so strong
To keep my sounds
While those people
I despise
Are the only ones who bang on them

Trying to get in?
Enemies of musicians...

Today I'll wash the dishes
In the bathroom sink
And do without the broken oven
Because I think
Getting things fixed
Just ain't in the stars
No more.

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