Poetry Played Live

A while ago I went to a gig. Then I wrote this poem about it. I'm pretty sure Memoric isn't a word; it just feels right.


The guitarist strums his guitar
That ebony cave of resonance
A bitter rasp into his heart
And a rumble under his thumbs
Memoric beats scanning in bands around our bodies
Circling and sliding through in incandescent chords

Sombre hums step like moans
Smiling from a heavy heart
And roll into a wandering crowd

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