Friday 4 September 2020

 

Untitled for Others 4 – Music maketh the person

 

Drifting, perplexed the foreign language of black dots consumes the soul

 

I am disconcerted by the sounds that invade and conquer,

 

questioning how specks on parallel lines can evoke feelings and buttonhole

 

the moment without ever shaking hands or knowing my past.

 

Classical lines or disjointed improvisation, grime or jungle or something from the garage

 

pulsating or docile, swirling round the brain, downloaded or broadcast

 

lifting, shifting - emotions on fire, smouldering or extinguished forever.

 

Listening is everything, feeling the beat of life keeps us ever alive.


 

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