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Watching ghosts dance

October 7, 2016

once I was young
and heard each song
fresh and undiminished

I weighed every phrase,
chilled sometimes by the
adultness of it,
as if watching ghosts dance

fuzzy shapes of grownup formed
in the spaces between the lines,
the hiding-in-the-cupboard voyeuristic thrill
of glimpses of what seemed to be real
embedded in a simple pop hook,
a sly phrase,
a tangential bridge,
a bombastic chorus

this next song –
will it tell me what I want to know?
will each word be true
for me
today?

can I stretch the meaning of the lines
to cover this moment,
to make that prophecy?

ah, but no.
this song is not achieving
presentism
or futurism.
maybe the next one

I can still recall the feeling,
even if the illusions are long faded –
but then maybe this song can reignite them

ah, but no.
maybe the next one

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