I thought I had raised Babylon
over one terrible night
the scars on my palms
hammer and tongs
my mouth full of mortar
I fumble in a whiskey-dark fog
fugue clogged synapses
awakening and becoming aware
that I couldn’t build a garden shed.
I thought I had composed a symphony
a cascade of chords and inner harmonies
woven into movements of transcendence
three minutes of four beats and a voice
starting with a note… What note?
I’ve lost the key, the time, the words
my guitar seems built of lead
my hands stiff and mute
I have a string of nothing and a stolen riff
delete it I guess
my sorry fucking head.
I thought I had created something
made something worthy
yet I behold a palace of nonsense
and lame poetry.