Elphyon
02-16-2008, 06:59 AM
A busker with a broken guitar
sings an antidote for urban misery.
Between neon stars made up of Corporate letters
and spoiled lights of a lonely streetlamp
Is no stage for moonlit serenades.
The floating faces that throb along
the corners marked by illegible sings
go untouched by his sing-song voice;
a roadkill under black, rubber tires.
(line shaping does not work! It should read strum strum that string)
string,
Strum that
strum
Strike
strike
that
chord!
Chanter on, my busker friend,
obla-dibla-da till the coming
of a second Christ!
And in the case of his broken guitar:
three pennies and a palmful of dimes
just enough for a bottled DASANI
to make him sing still some more,
himself into morsels,
while night lasts.
Push Play.
sings an antidote for urban misery.
Between neon stars made up of Corporate letters
and spoiled lights of a lonely streetlamp
Is no stage for moonlit serenades.
The floating faces that throb along
the corners marked by illegible sings
go untouched by his sing-song voice;
a roadkill under black, rubber tires.
(line shaping does not work! It should read strum strum that string)
string,
Strum that
strum
Strike
strike
that
chord!
Chanter on, my busker friend,
obla-dibla-da till the coming
of a second Christ!
And in the case of his broken guitar:
three pennies and a palmful of dimes
just enough for a bottled DASANI
to make him sing still some more,
himself into morsels,
while night lasts.
Push Play.