the story always ends
I was reading short stories and listening
to soulful blues on a lazy
hazy afternoon
lost in two worlds
subconsciously conjoining them
believing (deep down inside)
my own reality never did exist
I inch toward the edge of the chair
placing book to the side
reaching for the telecaster
unplugged I experiment
with chord progressions
sort of singing beneath my breath
my own improvised dialogue
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
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