the clown

it was simpler.
when he and i would sit in a room and talk about jazz
all night.
there were no windows in the room
so we never knew how much time had passed.
just tugging at my shirt sleeves, my hands would ache
as we spoke about music that moved us.
and i wanted in.
i miss that.
when names of musicians would fall off my tougne
and i'd shake
my shoulders shivering as the first note fumbled out of the speaker.
there is no grace in this.
it's dirty
and sexless
everyone is jealous of everyone
and the malice is almost embarrassing
because it's so calculated.
nothing is really happenening
no one is here.