Music is memory
as unsentimental
as you want to be
you need to touch
an instrument,
two chords,
a melody on a string
is sufficient
to
make you delirious
through dreams
and disappointments
feelings haven't aged
beaten clichés you're holding
for the return of a
golden age
the radio isn't helping
internet's there to ambush
those things you've been holding
won't be carried with you
everyone addicted to something
she falls asleep to symphonies
her son haunted by a blank wall
where he hears traces of feelings
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