Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Sunny Day on Scorpions

She told me that she hadn’t had a favorite band
since she was a kid; when she had time for that.

When you lose something, living or not,

(a death, a misplacement)

there is a moment of confusion like made-up
David Byrne lyrics asking, “How did I get here?

This is not my wonderful life.”

Sometimes, she said, she’d rather be playing
an oboe in a tunnel with an old gunslinger
than remember what used to be normal.


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