You stop for the cameras
Drinking a small but sturdy glass
You float, you mingle
Work the room like your latest single
But are you lost in your sleek black tux?
Do you cling to where the guitar strap should be?
Maybe your wild brown locks
Are the last bit of yourself you could preserve
When the music you married then married business
I wonder if you're gone like me
Wearing the clothes but not the setting
And the lack of direction painted
On your face for every elite to see
Then I wonder if you've got it down
Each big wig just another sound--
The label exec a droning riff
The agents chirping keyboards
The press sparring drums and cymbals--
To all of which you know the key
You have the chords and the rhythm
Unfazed by the discordant hymn
. . . can you make sense of it all?
Does every arena look the same
Despite opposing crowds lining the walls?
Can you breathe inside your bejeweled collar
If you're in need of security?
Would you skip this joint for the promise of a dollar
Or play the game of duality?
In the charisma you know too well
Your beauty is the blinding beacon of each day
So dear, I urge you to reach for me
If you ever lose your surefire way

© Jaz Rogers