by James Payne
I stopped liking music.
But I didnâ€™t stop thinking about it.
But I did stop caring about it –
probably in the backseat with a book,
probably in someoneâ€™s bed, asleep,
probably in-between comments/looks.
Probably I stopped liking it
as I was playing it, or
maybe I just â€˜sublimatedâ€™ 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 â€“ â€˜We are too alike,â€™
probably feedback â‰ brilliance in 2009.
Probably overburdening everything
as I seem to do to it, or
whatever, and anyway,
we are out of that place.
I donâ€™t blame you necessarily,
(I donâ€™t really care (though it does seem
a plausible explanation when I sit to I mull it over
(but whoâ€™s to say Iâ€™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.