Poetry / passer-by

i would pass by that window
same hour.

                                Every day
i would hear the music
spewing out of the window’s curtains.

one day i stood outside
ears attentive
for the excruciatingly sweet
duration of that song
he was talking to me, that [horrible] guitarist:

“wren you
hear
an awake-ward
tune,
id catches yr i—
you know.”

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