john mayer talks about new york

this man has a voice like
tiny intricate watercolor paintings
that remind me of why i like to call them ‘pictures’
little paintings where the buildings and things
are drawin in black ink and then the details are painted
in and they’re slightly out of the lines

he’s got a voice like rain on city streets
early in the morning on movies about love–
that quiet crackle on glass windows with no blinds
that calls to you to press your face and fingers
to their reflections and blow steam clouds
and draw pictures (later to be inked in and painted
in watercolor)

listening to him
i am thinking of a slightly sad person in a train car
on a rainy afternoon, long fingers resting
on a portfolio containing tiny watercolor pictures
and bigger drawings
a traveling artist,
on his way to the future.

all this, from one man’s voice.

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