he plays a little club on tuesday nights, a seedy little place off main
the voice, still strong after all this time; yet he never did sell his name.
his songs, sad and sweet, sift through my soul transcending time and tomb
my lonely heart answers the way it knows best; i feel i must call home.
invoking the loss of my family, of my false securities
his songs call out my every conceit and bring me to my knees.
home will you take me back? i’m so damned tired of this road
i thought, oh i thought i could make it, until i heard his songs.
Praying for Eyebrowz 
I like your poem, although it made me feel a bit sad. For some reason, the song that popped into my head after reading it was the Joni Mitchell one about the clarinetist who “played real good for free.”
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It made me sad, too. When I went to listen to my cousin play in Nashville last week it struck me that there are so many really good musicians out there who’ll never get a break.
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That’s very true. To get the big breaks, talent isn’t always enough. Often, it seems to have a lot to do with luck too.
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Ah, so often those musicians in the small dirty bars are the best….
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Absolutely!
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