a missing string
turns them away,
for they are not
able to play
distorted sounds
of yesterday.
but five's
enough to go astray.
to weep upon
such a demise,
to let your eyes
flood with these cries,
over a couple
dozen lies
shows your
despair and lack of wise.
the corner stand
knows not that friends
are capable of
mending bends.
despite the
scientific trends,
this broke
guitar still somehow sends
a rhythmic
oozing down my spine.
it may be
broken, but it's mine.
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