There is no sense in firing him, it's been a long distance relationship
between the Sun and the Moon for many years now, anyways.
No sense in asking the Janitor for cash.
The film in the camera and the film on that old dusty piano
have all become the same thing.
It's his attempt to go back in time
and call the music back to life.
In those old bars, the Grey Ghost played
shapeshifter each key whether black or white
and howled into some bitter majesty in the pitch black night.
Prostitutes and war veterans with prosthetic legs hobbled together
as rats scurried between the fences and the cans
the sharp edges of aluminum
and the dirty nylon stockings
wrapped up into balls on wash day
and the bright white linens slapping the sky
on the clotheslines
between the tenement houses
1939.
Fantastic story, really had me going there.