An uncurated playlist

The music keeps on — going,
coming, keeping on; there are
plenty of words or phrases
that could equally be applied
without changing the meaning.
It's the nature of the music that's
important. Uninvited, unrelated, 
spawned from a mental jukebox 
that shares some symptoms with

dementia. The voice I am hearing 
when it comes on is Piaf's, Les 
Trois Cloches the song, even though 
I would have sworn I was only 
familiar with the English version,
The Three Bells. Hot on its heart
beat is the Flower Duet, Dôme 
épais le jasmin, from Lakmé by 
Delibes, then the soprano voices

drift away & you get a shiver in
the dark as the Sultans of Swing
walk in. Now the jukebox is ex-
changed with a pachinko machine,
& we bounce from Seven Seconds
to Sympathy for the Devil, from 
Fairytales of New York to Bach's
Arioso. The the silence returns 
& I look at the stars. All yellow.