David Fekete

I will be at scales, tonight
Despite my flaws, Carol accepts me as perfect for her
She is perfect for me, our world is perfect
As perfect as can be this side of eternity
But the world isn’t Carol
My world can’t be only Carol, can’t be only our world
The world doesn’t care about me as does Carol—why would it?
There are 24 key signatures, all with their scales
48, if you count pentatonic scales, then there are 7 modes in every key
Though, to me, the modes are another matter
This all is expected of me, of every musician; I expect it of me
If I’m not careful, I’ll rest content in Carol’s valuation of my worth
Rest in the perfect world our own, in our care for each other
Carol doesn’t care about scales—why would she?
Though she is my whole world, we are the whole world to each other
The world is not Carol
If I’m going to solo in Santana, I had better be sure in my scales
Then, eternity is more than scales
And the man playing the scales is as the music in eternity
Time was, that man was all that mattered to me
But the world is not eternity
Even if I think I’ll find eternity planted in the world, through the world
It isn’t either-or, the world and eternity
It’s good to plant my feet on the ground, even if the ground be art
Carol likes it when I play a song for her