Blessed be the Black and White Keys

Ernest Williamson III

I have no forest before the trees
whatever trade I have it is hidden
and burned as the sins of ourselves
nothing matters
intermittently or always
except this moment these surrounding pianos
this lovely look
this lovely extension of my asking

I have no obsession nor compulsion
of interest really
whatever lust I stand beside
is a lie an old relic
with no power
a puff of smoke from an angry ant
nothing matters
intermittently or always
except this smile these eyes
these surrounding pianos of my asking

I have no spark for any other
nor do I yearn for one
whatever woman who can
make me a walking man
crumple and feed
on the dust of the dead
I know there is no other
for nothing matters
intermittently or always
except this voice this intelligence
these surrounding pianos of my asking