To Carrboro

To Carrboro

Here, Autumn is not bitter
There's no death in winter


Josephine Foster

Carrboro, baby,
I don't know where Chapel Hill ends
and you begin
exactly,
except I start to feel it
right at that V
where Rosemary Avenue breaks off
from Main Street
and I sometimes see wispy shadows
of heavy black cases
being lifted into the Cat's Cradle.
O town of slim-hipped
hip graduate students
wearing torn bluejeans
and drinking fine wine,
or flicking cigarette ash
(magically harmless),
from their blue bicycles;
town of coffee shops
where you sit alone for hours and smile
at emails, where just outside
the bathroom,
dirty walls advertise
secret wonders, like how
on a whim last night,
I saw a flyer for a trippy opera folk singer
who, just this second,
was singing songs down the road,
and I sped recklessly over,
then tiptoed into one
of your tiniest bars—
the one with the red walls
and the kind strangers crossed-legged on the floor
like a third-grade class
hypnotized by a good story,
watching as the singer,
gazed softly down,
tapped her shoe
on the stage's edge,
and stopped the heart
of the room,
no one making a sound
even to get up for a drink,
for fear they might wake any of us
from the dream of her song.

welcome to the somesurprises music blog!

I want to start writing about what I love most: music.

Here on the somesurprises music blog I'll discover new music, musicians, albums, live shows, the classics, the way long gone stuff, the music my friends make, the bands who changed my life during my formative years who continue to put out stellar records.

So, welcome to the blog!

I may get lazy sometimes and just deliver a link, much like this:

http://www.myspace.com/jayflasch