In some versions he is believed
and let go, a voice unbroken
by the telling and unrelieved
questions of his disaffection.
Not this time. This time resonates
with cries and fracture. He will beg
a mercy from the power that waits
upon all new schools of music.
The song may or may not survive
this torture, but hell, wait to be
transported by such a lively
rendition. Extraordinary.
Second Nature: James Lindesay’s Poetry 