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.