he is not your twin
he is you
looks a little like you
will once your hair
goes grey
but I am talking about his sound, his art
his guitar, music that speaks volumes
with little blips and jerks
quirky, looped notes
sparse tones that would lead
an amateur to believe
he is an amateur
but, of course
he is brilliant
a song is not a song
like a poem is not a string of words
but each, a series of breaths
a full 4 minutes of breathing
inventing life
in moments of reverie
deep humor, jokes one shares
with oneself
and again, with those they love
in coy smile, pump of step
they craft the world
as the world crafts them
spoonsful of weird guitar or lines of poetry
woven into all that proceeds
from the open hearts
of these sonic scientists, mad
with love
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