tissues stack like a victim
of a cold by the bedside
computerside
and typing is met with dripping
is overwhelmed by bad media
driving you slowly into a downward
spiral of confusion into the depressed
state you used to know so well you
were afraid you’d never leave but then
you found help in the history of jazz a
class they told you would boost your self
confidence (if not your GPA) while
lulling you to sleep each night with free
music you’re forced to listen to for
a grade in a way ruining your favorite
genre
a genre you like to play background
music to by blowing your nose in
time with the beat of the bass drum while
the snare is hit repeatedly in form seldom
changing so the sax and the trumpet
can have their moments to shine in turn and
each moment that passes with a tissue
held to your face you realize your missed
dream of holding an instrument and this
cold presses in past your bones and
your heart itself begins to feel sick
as the tissues pile up slowly beside
your computer where you know you
should be doing work but your mind continues
to wander to worlds that could have been
but alas whatever good has come to you
that you imagined.
your fantasies have changed so much over
time you find yourself looking back and
thankful what you hoped for never came to pass
or else you’d be stuck with little susie whats
her face from from first grade, and you know that
while your dreams are bigger now you’ll still
look back someday thankful they were never
realized.
the sieve and the sand 