Misconceptions aside, please understand that I am unsure about much. Please understand at least more than I do. There is a lot of talk about the gates of hell. There is also a lot of talk about the gatekeepers of art, music, poetry.
Who has that job? I want to give the gatekeepers a piece of my mind. Oh wait, I have done that with the poetry gatekeepers. They turn their nose up at me more often than they throw me bread crumbs.
Will the trail to success have bread crumbs? Will the fortunes languish in a swamp of our own making? The songs of yesterday are still with us today, mostly. The blonde standing by the water cooler has had nothing to say all morning. I think she is there to spy on others. She will likely report to the boss tonight after hours. Their arrangement could be considered unique, but is probably not.
Like Bossa Nova that gal. moves and I can't take my eyes off her. The Drummer is mad about his the bounce he gets on his skin. His sticks never have time to stick to the drum skin. His beat is a whole movement that you can't deny.
I await word from my lover. It's long overdue. It's like a voice lost in the forest. Raspy replies, na-na-naaa.
Harmonica and flute tangle in the air. There is nothing more to say. just listen. Shhh... Quiet. It's just a shame people aren't listening. I'm mostly tired of no one paying attention. I know the economy sucks but please try and buy yourself a little attention.
Michael Allyn Wells - notes & musings