Maybe you need to see music
with your eyes, waves of notes
bending in the wind like wheat,
some crazy doppler of palm leaves
curving their sad cello.
A plywood box full of holes is an instrument
for the box stomper. So what else?
The news, that laser eye
on misery, its staccato ticker
a high-hat of destruction. The wine
green bottle of Jazz
for intellectuals who need an excuse.
Your neighbors bicycle, white, too short
for its rider, hanging regardless
in the barn from a ceiling hook. A music
of not being used for its purpose.
Just look around and thats everywhere.
Which is not to say
its not beautiful.