He stands at the mic,
craggy faded eagle
in a grey suit, singing the verse
in a voice of smoke
surrounded by stark figures
black like spectres
from his own youth.
As he finishes,
the band picks up the chorus
and he stands there
smiling with his eyes
closed, just listening
and you feel his whole
life in that smile
and your life, too,
as though the silent
voice of the most beautiful
losers has given
birth to the whole world.
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/34-tone-poem-the-finale-leonard-cohen-i-m-your-man/
