Sink Like a Stone

Earlier today I was walking to the Math and Computer Science Building talking a poem to myself--just sort of freestyling. Anyway, I tried to remember it after math class but you know how that goes. So I decided to scrap it and start over--but I wanted to make a piece that was completely free-flowing and untouched. This is how it appears in my notebook without alteration. Every line came right after the other and my pen never stopped moving. It was an exercise that I learned from Ellis Paul. Okay here it is:
Folk Music
It's country with a conscience.
It's Hank & Woody getting paid by the pick,
flicking the stringswith calloused thumbs
like the doorman flicks his Zippo.
It's not getting paid
playing Thursday nights to a sea of nods
and black coffee
and cigarettes.

Folk is a room with picture windows that open doors
if you sing the right words.
It's the walkin' man
with a guitar slung,
a harmonica hum.
How every man starts outa Dylan doppelgange
rand every girl lets her long hair fall over
the fretboard.
All we are saying,
All we are saying,

All we are saying is all that we have
That's why it's repeated in the refrain.
It's open
Open to interpretation
Open tuning
Open your ears,
hear the jingle-jangle,
the bottom of a tip cup,
the snap of a quick pluck.
The palm can't mute the soul
This ain't rock-n-roll.
It's grass roots
and wooden flutes
and if folk can't pay the rent, babe,
you'd better start singin' the blues.