The Poetry of
Jack Scott

An Epidemic of Music

Sad, drowning in this music.
Sadder still,
drowning joy in it ,
consigning silence
to memory
of the future tense.

Brief strand of melody
frays all its threads
of captive tunes
that wouldn’t leave our heads,
so full of traces
swirled around themselves
hugging too tightly
in a stubborn dance.

When the music’s done,
when the band’s gone home
a final bugler lingers
to grace the notes
of each perfect epitaph
tapped out
after final S.O.S.


389 ®Copyright 1974 Jack Scott. All rights reserved.