Symphony Machines
03/03 2023
Thought I saw him sneaking behind the corner,
And me, I huddled after him a hundred bucks poorer,
With a bottle of scotch shattering on the ground,
People laughed, I cried, dogs barked, a symphony of sound
And he, the conductor, nowhere to be seen.
The comforting sheen of the dim screen,
Peering in to the dark room of adolescent screams,
Notes that bounce and whistle with the wind,
As my figure undulates to that Madonna's grin.
I thought I saw him in my bathroom, setting up the scene.
Below floorboard conspiracies dig up the box,
And tell me of your shock, like when the politician walks
On the avenue of shattered ideals, that I'd lock
Him up for a millennia and still have energy to mock
Him as he parades around, shouting for his long-lost Queen.
Eileen, he says, as she turns to leave,
I know you don't believe me, how you think me naive;
How what was behind that door was ill-conceived.
She keeps on walking, as he keeps on talking,
As Bach invents a new kind of symphony machine.
Oh, conductor, play on
Let our souls be ravaged as they go on
By heart attacks and bygones.
Play it to me, one more time.