APARTMENT ECHOES

Big speakers play the frills of a piano, and

Mozart lives across the way

and I can see him playing through the window.

Its the starting and stopping

that goes on for weeks at a time, but somehow

it all goes down in his manuscript.

Windows are for voyeurs

and I have seen people make love in the night

heard the screams of wondrous delights

and the hollow sound when

the lovers leave a vacancy in the apartment.

Climatic fools, never a lullaby

in between their gorging and huffing sounds

mad men and women suffocating

for a breathe as they retire in their spasms.

Some will walk in the center garden

surrounded on all four corners by windows

hearing multiplexed sounds of sex.

Hard to read the New York Times

and just trying to understand what you read

is nearly impossible through the cries.

Who started the revolution

and do the summer babies rain from the sky?

I had so many myself

but unattached I let them all go by.

I am an artist

who was much more advance the man I was.

Women loved me for my balls

but the World loved me for my mesmerizing art.

Can’t be in two places at the same time

so the echoes from the apartment canyon persist

to define my past episodic adventures.

The woman I started out with

had recently died after loosing her voice.

Did we sell any tickets?

I don’t think we knew if anyone ever listened.