Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Chords At The Edge

The word was spread about your chords
I was not sure where they came from
whether from your hands,
whether from your mouth
strings or wind, drums or voice
not even when I heard

They said that something in me would move
I was told directly, I guess I was warned,
though I expected rather a dance
and so it was the first time
last night I didn't pay attention

From almost silent to unbearable loud
I wonder if that was a recorded chord
or if you played at live, private concert,
something in me is moving
until almost left me
the pretentious smile helped me to keep it

Was I supposed to be overflowing
moving to a corner to the other
instead of collecting the particles
as they try to flee of me
I don't wish your chords to reach an end
they reached already my borderline