sunday, january 4

addiction, a hypothesis:
in one sense,
i don't have enough music
that is going to be true no matter how much
electrically fossilized noise i collect,
what jangling or percussive motions
i commit to memory

but it will be true in the same sense
that i don't have enough oxygen
or enough good friends:
as long as i have breath in my lungs
the occasion of your voices
some good sound trickling
through my brain

the endlessness of my need
is only an assurance of its worth.

tags: topics/poem

p1k3 / 2004 / 1 / 4