6-String
A poem
learning the instrument is a symbol of discipline which colors dream interpretation a simpler texture when guitars watch me from the ether’s corners.
inexplicably pondering dad’s cross-eyed Yamaha collecting dust, was one of those fearfully intuitive instances, gravitational karma pulling us into each other’s orbits.
since then, my dear musical plank has opened doors no man could close and closed doors no man could open: once distant dreams of satirizing Mötley Crüe at my daughter’s birthday party have happened, at least musically.
sure, there’s been untimely bouts when I yearned to mate it with the wall in pure frustration.
there have been motes of review, instigating labors of due appreciation, as well.
life is like that.
©Daniel Barry, 2022






