Mar 17, 2013
Unemployment (3)
Out of cash, out of well-fitting trousers, Out of soap and apples, Out of pencils, out of my keeper’s Reach. I wish to set myself afire But may not. This morning (Last night) in the common room I watched the administration Of oxygen to one who had none And I would not sit down, demanding To do so. Later I happened on a man At the piano, and though I have happened five or six times On men at the piano, None moved his hand like this Within the keys. I sat beside him, looking for a sound A chest sound. Not listening; I don’t listen Anymore. I make music But I don’t listen. By Mark Levine.