There’s this man
And the wall is thin between my office,
(a closet crumpled full of books and papers, pictures, the water heater holding cups of tea
like a butler, a small school desk, a chair and myself)
And his room.
He plays music
As people do in the evening.
Older, Steely Dan.
It’s nice, cause I sit
And write and write and want melody
Only it would be too loud if
I played it.
But old walls are too thin, old buildings play tricks like mirrors for your ears and sound can…

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