I find my way without a map. Somehow hardwired with a euphonic G.P.S. that allows me passage through various organic scales. Major and minor. Therapy in black and white. This little finger dance that I can stick a pin in and say, I like that (because it's for me and no one else). And the kids bang around in the background and I scribble frantically with a nubby pencil whose groove might inspire a rhythm if I could find a place to settle among these eighty-eight keys...
A B C D E F G spells JOY and I sink into it and forget to watch the clock and realize it's seven o'clock and I have three kids who haven't had their dinner...
So here it is. The first song from the rescued piano - my new friend. Poorly recorded but nonetheless...
Happy Monday, get myself up. Good morning - fill up my cup. Take the coins from beside the bed, before you use them for cigarettes...Get the kids off to school, no kisses - that's not cool. Steal one in the parking lot anyway. This is my cliche...Say hello to the boss. Check the clock, what time do I get off? Can I get you another cup? It's only decaf but at least it's hot...Five months to a holiday. Ten years til Saturday. Who needs it anyway? This is my cliche...Home again and unprepared. Dog-tired and no one cares. Pick up the sock and the daily grind. Get dinner on the table on time...Grab a book and crawl into bed. Try to read but the words blur through my head. Close my eyes to catch a wink when I hear the sound of little feet....I'm fine. You're good. Home is where the heart is. Life is a highway. This is just a rest stop from my cliche...Happy Tuesday - get myself up. Good morning - fill up my cup.
Pull you in for a moment or two because I like you.