He belongs to the night people;

stories without legs and fast rooms

with slow talk. His music is the jazz

that drowns out the guilt while

overpowering the need for more.


His words are like sledgehammers,

crushing the crystal while sharp edges

rub the skin of your listening.


Sleep is an intrusion to the breathing

of his thoughts. He wakes up late,

encouraging evening to descend.


He pulls out the aroma from the

passion of music, undertaking the

overparts while creating the complete.


3 thoughts on “OVERPARTS

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