Poetry Studio


I arrived in the mail.
Aunt Mimi said I was
a hobby
not a living.

I could imitate sound
driving the rhythm
that pulled his heart
out of its chest
and laid it bare
for the world to see

Paul came.
He could play his guitar upside down.
Then George.
His guitar was genius.
Note by note
we made melodies
and learned them by heart
and shouted
and stomped
and sang
in smoky clubs
in studios
on radio

In America.
Screams drowned our heartbeats.
Top of the world
Yeah Yeah Yeah
Smothered by fame
we cried "Help!"
We sang "Nothing is real."
New songs
New sounds
New woman

On the Apple roof
We let it be

With Yoko
we gave peace a chance
and angered some

I gently weep for this dreamer
who imagined the world
as one.


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