Abandon All Vision...

When he crossed into the East, the pain had gone away. Strings first plucked with numb fingers, trying to crawl through the music. Elated, the apostle of idiocy, leaning against the wall of the station, tapping his foot where feet passed, the cross-hatched streaks & prints & pummeled cigarettes. Street raised, naked in the sharp air skimming off the trainyard. Eyes closed, he pealed out Not Fade Away & slapped his hand on the guitar. What was the chorus again? Love is love or love is real? He always forgot the chorus. But if love is love, then doesn't that mean love is real? He clapped his hands over his head & stomped in the dirt, making true his promise to sift away with all the others, those loved & those rustled against in narrow aisles. Some coins rang in the case & strangers danced. He didn't need to open his eyes. The world being all that is heard. He crouched down on one knee, began humming while trying to fashion from memory the melody the Turkish kid had woven but it soon spiraled beyond his fingers so he stuck to the scales he knew, singing you gotta walk that lonesome valley all by yourself & no one here can walk it for you. His sweaty hands slid down the neck & he lost grip of the trembling, taken away from the pulse of her body.