For You

This is for you, after you, you, you.

Because the strands come together over the fretboard.
Cover you, you empty, vast Hole.
Make this sympathetic succession of sounds.
So I strum and sing and belt out the familiar darkness.
Realise that it is you who echo
And amplify my tones of sorrow.

Weave 'em out, them horse-strings.
They are coarse, rough, good.
Hold the neck! Grab the headstock!
And loosen 'em tuner posts.

Now I can play real, real music.
Music without your resonance of woe.

This is for you, after you, you, you.