BLACK KEYS
there's a sort of pecking order
in the fog
on nights like these
neighborhoods have no choice
there's a certain chord
when played at a particular volume
becomes the ABSOLUTE
minor progressions in a sharp
impregnate the rooms of indoor life
beyond interpretation,
this magic,
notes escaping into the street
impatient chorus
your hands against the keyboard,
resting so perfectly:
music is the last drug I want tonight.
©Joie Cook
U.S.A.
North Beach
From Beatitude Vol. 2, 1992
Publisher: EILEEN KAUFMAN -
The Bob Kaufman Foundation for Living Poetry
Editor: Michele Marie Boleyn
