Nude Woman In My Room Above The Crazy Music

I am the wail of a soul
A Wednesday in Octobers of long ago
I am getting high in my room
On a new song so frail
After listening to the great men of rock
I can never hear myself creating riffs for long
The ability to tell a story within their throats
Lennon, McCartney, Harrison and Starkey play off each other so brilliantly

Once valiant,
Now fade away like flowers in a vase
The love they brought to our place
From which I might not recover

I am singing a new song so frail
Its riff, skinny ribcage reveille
A single outward howl
A lonesome echo go
Telling me to get lost inside myself, to learn the quartertones
Between the Mersey and the great depressed city

But to tell you the truth,
I don’t shout out images
Or scurry madly like a coked-out mouse in a daze
There are no artificial ingredients, no funny names to disguise
The true character of all of our voices combined
This is what sets all of those words free.
Supposedly.
I hear those men
Like they’ve heard me
I like the smiles, the fresh new sounds
They’ve given me
If I had never met them
Heard the crystal of their phrases.
I’d be another unknown Joe
Wailing below the sea
Writing squalor

By Charles Bernstein