Polyphonic

I wanted you to come sooner, Roy,
like when I was nineteen and obsessed
with classical music. My favorite 
composers were as follows: Bartok,
Bartok and Bartok. That’s not really
all that accurate and I’m afraid
someone is plagiarizing my style as
we speak. Is my time signature correct?
Notice I didn’t put one on this poem.
That’s because it’s a poem and not
a piece of music, although 
you see it pretty differently since
we both have a metronome inside our heads.
I guess that does make me a musician
of some kind but I’m still not sure 
what kind I am. I don’t play any tangible
instrument. I just put words together.
I just assign an arbitrary time signature
inside my head and it’s set before I can
fucking think about it. Does that make me
a musician? I’m trying to find a way to tell
you it doesn’t, just like I’m trying not
to remember that I want to be listening to
“In One Spot” right now and instead,
I’m listening to Corelli because every 
Britney Spears fan with a broken heart 
knows who Corelli is. Do any of the 
rejection-letter obsessed editors out there
need to know who Corelli is? Let me make
it simple. He wrote the original melody
to “Oops I Did It Again”. You’re 
embarrassed as hell, Mr. Editor who will
no doubt reject this poem, because
Roy knew a fact about music that you didn’t.
Classical music is the bastard child
of the poetry world. Just listen to the
various voices in this piece. The word
I want to call this pieces is pretty 
complicated but actually, it isn’t.
It just has a lot of syllables and all
of them are foreign. Roy knows the word
I’m looking for. And it’s not love.