Oh, Billie.
Still I can't play her song.
That ole haunting melody that reads
rather than sings no matter
how easily my sheet music opens to it.
I should be able to feel it,
but my ear denies the attention
as my brain makes demands to my hands.
I try to remember, she's a lady.
She runs from too much mental masturbation;
but, on top of that, my fingers are bandaged.
I'll improve my improv, Monklike.
One day you won't know me,
under a hat that hides everything
I'll be in a world built for me.
Oh, Billie.
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