Mellow and delicately
yawning—the slow throats
of your ears
stretch without strain
near the dark
end of winter
and then—tentatively affording one another
the momentarily
decadent
opportunity to savor—soon snap
to a sound—still faint
fuzzy
faraway
beguiling—
a sound that could only
have come from outside—because never!
in your right mind
could you have dreamt
of concocting—
the curiously vernal melody—now inviting
itself inward nonstop
through your cartilage-
thin walls—from the uncharted wealth
of such possible worlds
as might just exist somewhere
off in the alley—
the unmistakably—rattletrap clamoring
organ and clapping
hands—
of the goddamn J. Geils Band!
