666etwood Mac

666etwood Mac
by James Payne
I stopped liking music.
But I didn’t stop thinking about it.
But I did stop caring about it –
probably in the backseat with a book,
probably in someone’s bed, asleep,
probably in-between comments/looks.
Probably I stopped liking it
as I was playing it, or
maybe I just ‘sublimated’ those thoughts
of how being in a band with you was
into a more general feeling toward a range
of notes and the conventions for arranging them.
Look, life is hard –
probably I/it am/is difficult,
probably – I have heard – ‘We are too alike,’
probably feedback ≠ brilliance in 2009.
Probably overburdening everything
as I seem to do to it, or
whatever, and anyway,
we are out of that place.
I don’t blame you necessarily,
(I don’t really care (though it does seem
a plausible explanation when I sit to I mull it over
(but who’s to say I’m not projecting (or displacing
(and what would it change? (can anything change?
(can this? (can you? (can I? (I?))))))))))
I just stopped liking music.

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