somewhere
(everywhere) there are people
/institutions
that are stacked like books
(like albums)
against me. Some wall,
some intricate puzzle
placed together by the hands of
Adversity
But they don't know me.
they haven't been listening.
they can take those papers
those scores
and burn them the way
I've burned thousands
and thousands
of dollars to get a piece of paper that,
given the opportunity,
would also coil up in flames.
There is nothing fireproof
except for the music that comes
from my lips
my fingertips.
So, no. I am not
stopping.
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