Oblong Orchestra

A room of
broken instruments makes
ultimate sense,
guitar necks hanging by
a single string.

Echoes of
their former
reverberation ring in my
ears, and I
admit,

I’m the
first to cling to the days
when music could
be reasoned with.

Either I’m getting
older or the
newest songs are treasonous.

Weren’t these our
ill- considered
idols?

A basement full
of dusted drums and muted dials
haunts us like the fallout
of a power surge.

The microphones have
lost their words, bass guitars
upturned and
the ghosts of those who played them
for a neighbourhood’s worth of noise complaints
adjourn.

When we were
young, all we ever
coveted was
being heard.

But like
anything on
this Earth too long,
eventually there comes day
evolution laps us,

and the
new life forms attack us for
being unevolved.

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