The music in May has been good to me.
All that Jazz just hanging there in the air
as I try to figure out what I could do next.
They follow me now, Buk
just like they followed you
and just like I’m following you home.
The music is different though, I could
never write with Classical, too much noise
and crescendo scares me when I don’t pay attention.
The whole thing has become electric
where you get discovered by blogging now
and barely ever have to go to slams or coffee shops
and read and read until someone feels your pain.
It isn’t electric typewriter as much as it is
I do it to Jazz. I let it reap my fields as the sun rises,
as the sun blinds noon lunch commuters
and as it sets and poses for the camera like a porn star.
This has all been good to me –
the music, the songs, the photos, the days –
It’s a full brass sound now and the room dances
and my fingers dance.
They read me now, Buk. I just hope I don’t dry up,
waste away in a gutter and run out of words.
To paint images on a computer screen –
easier now and it sings now with
these crazy devices like auto-correct
and we have built-in thesauruses so
all our lines look better like mascara better
and painted-on lipstick mouths better
and people say things like “that was deep”
and “you have it man, I love how it flows.”
And in some ways that is ok too.
We are on that new wave, man, that new avenue
where structure isn’t bound by flowery phrases
and gravestone-like sonatas.
We get to do it and we get to do it hard now
and we get to tell everybody about it
like some sort of poetry smut book:
“50 Songs of Shaw”
Where you get to watch me
put each word into its place
each begging word, bound and gagged.
The music of May has been good to me
and as long as they keep
beating those skins, smashing piano keys
and thumping that low E,
I think it will be alright.