MENU MORE

Instruments Don't Make The Band

(or “Her Eyes”)

By Wil C. Fry, June 9, 1997

Copyright © 1997 by Wil C. Fry. All rights reserved.


I felt her eyes staring wide;
We knew centipedes don’t fly.
Wet falls down from a splintered sky.
Cov’ring the floor was Blood, and much.
I’m not a hero, not as such;
Perhaps my loneliness is a crutch.
Alcohol? Well, that makes two.
Clint’s words to me ring home true:
“Go ahead, and make my day too.”
/ It’s such a waste, /
/ I’ve been erased /
/ I need toothpaste /
To look at you, I could start
A volcano in my heart.
To explore myself, I need a chart
Of where, and why, and how, and when
I commit each and ev’ry sin.
There is no way out; what about in?
Crayons color the sky, and
Instruments don’t make the band,
But now my head’s out of the sand
/ I need to sleep /
/ Don’t make a peep /
/ Now, just count sheep /



Lines follow syllabic pattern: 7, 7, 8 ... 8, 8, 9 ... 7, 7, 8 ... 4, 4, 4; then repeat.



comments powered by Disqus