North LBJ [ode to artists]

a boy conductor walks up the street from the university
steep hill he sways his hands as though keys
strings and brass play a mighty silent melody
lingering in the air as cars drive past without care

we all have big dreams

i know that boy and that look of desperation
it’s the frantic artists who bleed
with no destination
where everyone can see
on 90 degree climbs fingers locked in grief
and sweat pours out like orchestral scores for
the Earth-spinning sanctity
of passion

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