Bad ideas, with art by Joakim Drescher

by Joakim Drescher

Paul used to say—like if I suggested
going up to the G sharp and ending
the song there—never returning to D—
he’d crash the cymbal and cry, “Bad thinking—
let’s try it!” One advantage of our band

aligning itself with Dadaism
was how experiments tended to stick
around, fermenting into pearlescent,
ginger liquor that could thrill or sicken
audiences. My squeezebox case is closed

these days, and my creative output picked
into friendly, nit-free execution.
It’s been years since I grabbed a trout and whacked
it against piano keys in passions
of Art. The cleaning staff hasn’t minded,

it seems, the less explosive expression
of my most dissonant, fishy notions.


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