Minor Keys Poem by Scott J. Shepard

The detuning of radios
And its love and plunder have already
Taken its toll on my preaching of blues
And its complimentary colors

Those 12 bars to the Stockholm of my red
Have been changing as I speak to you now
And if I took the minute to bring down
A moon to the earth I would fear I've gone too far already

So I would find myself somewhere solely impaled between
The warm blood of mice and mazes
Perpetrating acts of sentence that shouldn't be spoken

The drift of these words wear and tear
At my genes and the petty science that they
Won't match the shape of my nose
Or the religions of our fathers

My tone of voice would no longer do me justice
And the textures of my hair have proven unworthy
To any linen or silk