frankly, I was never
very wild as a musician.
jack knew the music. I just liked it.
would call around evenings
with lyrics penned
on printer sheets
and an argos acoustic guitar –
let him fix them together
like a man with a trophy-
caught beaver; add hair
and eyes, fingernails
and expression to skin.
we were trying to be musicians,
but he was the musician.
I liked writing songs
or the words to them
but didn’t know notes;
didn’t know anything
except that an A minor chord
went well with a C
and G. and he sat in his kitchen
at his piano like a man
with a knife and a long piece
of thread. careful as an amateur
taxidermist. sticking his hands
into the guts of every animal. fiddling
to make any sort of shape.