Money is also a kind of music.
I don’t mean the slight sleigh bell
of a pocketed change purse
or an old-time till’s single tap
of triangle, ringing
up sale, or even the percussion
of post-pillage coffers filling
up, plink by plink. I think
I mean that current
of classically trained breath
certain amounts of currency
can call forth
and blow through brass.
I mean the mean
current of electricity
Carol Kaye’s bass drew
from Capitol Records in the sixties,
the timesheets that took their toll
and exchanged it for
four / four time
kept without fail by the brain
of drummer Hal Blaine,
worth its weight in scale.
Source: Poetry (November 2007)
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