Silver – stanza 18.3

“Give me a beat,” said Marx, almost singing
Smiling and nodding as he showed them their
Seats, “Let’s groove, Daddy O” with a melodic
Insistence; Malinov greeted, Razor greeted
And Black Marx passed them a joint ritually
“Not your surface grade weed, true underground
The kind only music can buy, Tympanic Vibes”
We participated in the smoky ceremony and
Songs of thanks and praise and I asked him
About Silver, had he seen her or heard her around
He cast his gaze vacantly for a few beats
“No, haven’t seen her, haven’t seen her”
He stared away again, muttering and I
Suspected he was busily writing a new song
“Not here, not this side, not since Naples, I’d
Gone to Vienna, saw her there, singing opera
Is that right? We ran into each other in Italy
I was doing magic with the violin, remember?
I miss those days, I really do, when music
Remained a local phenomenon, we played
Or we heard nothing, everyone joined
I saw Courlain recently, four months ago
Came in late, caught a show, pretended he wasn’t
But I know his rhythms, the unique beat of his
Life, like I know my own heart, I know your
Sound, but I played along, ignored Courlain
And I saw Tasha not long after that but
She didn’t pretend, she was looking for me
And I dig the way that woman can move”

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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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