Silver – stanza 18

TThe music scene was Malinov’s next destination
On the quest destined to lead him to Silver
But, this time, not as a writer or singer or such
Razor and he went to a club downtown
Late, very late in the night after all the squares
Have gone home, in the basement of a bank
Long ago transformed into a parking garage
A small stage and big speakers in the
Hollowed out shell of a granite foundation
And a thick dark crowd of music aficionados
Not merely hard core and intense, deeper
Into the music, vampires of the funk, sucking
At the veins of harmony and rhythm
Black Marx strode on stage effusing
Twelve hundred years of musicians
Into a forty minute set, trained lifetime
By lifetime, each incarnation a prodigy
Music so pure, so sublime, so primal
Was simply too fine for ordinary ears
Driven underground to avoid contamination
Of popular tastes, Malinov waited backstage
A room nearly as large but many times
More exclusive than encountered in the main
“Have you heard Silver?” Malinov asked
“Not a peep,” answered Marx, “Not at all.”
“But Courlain has been by, pretending
He hasn’t and Tasha is around, a few
Months ago at least but she wasn’t
Looking for anyone, no one but me”

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About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
This entry was posted in books, fiction, literature, novels, personal, poetry, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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