Why when these moments of doubt
Creep into my fingers
Keeping the words from leaving my head
And showing themselves on the digital paper of my laptop
Does a healthy dose of Pink Floyd
Make everything better.
The cure is not too hard,
Twenty minutes or so of “The Great Gig In the Sky,”
Blasting on repeat
As the combinations to the locks to the thinking gates
Slowly tumble to release whatever is so pent up.
It always works.
A complimentary elixir is “The Final Cut,”
Listened to start to finish,
The history, the angst, both are soothing,
Somehow, enabling a flow that will hang on until
The emotion of it because too much
Right around the time they start singing, “eff all this.”
I’ve found the last eight weeks to be a blessing and curse,
Cooped up, away from the contagion,
Locked away from all the meaningful things in my life
Which has left me feeling a bit lost.
Thank goodness I can run, reach out to friends in whatever way,
And noise cancel with some Floyd.