he staples a sign to a telephone pole
hoping that anyone can help him
find it
winter is coming
and he dreads the thought of it
out there alone on the streets
in the snow
he considered reporting it to the police
but as he dialed the number
it dawned on him that
all they would hear
was an empty line
communicating
to the outside world
was now more difficult
than ever
nearly impossible
he was trapped
with a head full of music
that will never have a beat
verses and choruses
like remote desert islands
waiting for ships that never
come in
a song that is
a dirge of itself
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