Tessa, Now Playing At The Warehouse

I never really knew him.
Except when I listened to him fingering
deep, soulful chords, there’s an odd
sensation–green, mossy iterations
as in a long meditation. You would dislodge
sense and burrow into it like a dog
sniffing an old shirt over.

So you breathed the music in you.
What did it take, does it take to rap out
soul throughout the decades unyielding to
indifference, learning repetition?
The creaturely artist identifies with–
clocking the hours, laboring on–
something beautiful.

Prompt: So this was inspired by a musician. A guitar man. I truly admire the grit of musicians who have stuck it out in the grit of playing their nightly gigs. In a way by playing a repertoire of classic rock and pop numbers, they’re institutionalising themselves in a bygone era of music, living a legacy. But I think that’s their way of being true to themselves. It’s a kind of authenticity. You know the saying, the true artists repeat themselves. Write about a musician you admire.

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