The Song That You Sing

I don’t like the song that you sing
the way that you sing it
the key that it’s in
I don’t like the lyrics
That turn of a phrase
The bridge or the chorus
The tempo it’s in
You sing like you mean it
But it’s truly a sin
The way that you phrase it
The pitch that it’s in
I don’t like the song that you sing
The verses are cryptic
Your ear’s lined with tin
You say that you like it
Without any chagrin
You snort like a trumpet
Sound reedy-thin
I don’t like it
The song that you sing

What I’m Reading:

“Music for when the music is over
Is what a poem is. There’s no music
In a poem, just the imaginary
Composer breathing beneath the deep wreck…”

— Rowan Ricardo Phillips / “The Peacock”