There is a scottish singer-songwriter

There is a scottish singer-songwriter
called Andy Stewart, and sometimes
i must wonder if i am the only one
over here who has heard of him.
I hear John Lennon singing
'Strawberry Fields,' and i answer
him at the end of a verse- "i know."
My brother has a one-eyed cat
and some songs. I wonder if
anyone over in Scotland has heard of him?
Every time i hear George Harrison
sing 'Within You Without You'
it gets more true and more
relevant. (If they only knew.)
I remember looking at the album
cover when i was four years old
for hours together- or so it seemed then-
and wondering who all of the people
were, and staring at the meaningless
columns of mixed-up alphabet on
the back cover, knowing they were words
but not knowing what they said.
I never guessed then that those words
would someday mean so much.
Of course, they always DID- but
if i could remember all i've forgotten...
It was like a lotus flower opening.
I transcribed the words in notebooks
so as to keep them with me
during the soulcrushing hours between bells-
to remind me. (It's getting hard to be
someone, but it all works out.)
And now eighteen years after staring
at the four faces on the album sleeve
in the kind of contemplation only curious
four-year-olds can master, the song
still bears new revelations
and hearing it's  words has the
same bandaging effect on my soul
as an embrace from one who loves
me deeply, and knows me truly.
I wonder if, eighteen years from
now, my brother's song will
do that for somebody far away?
The sky is the same color as my flannel
bedsheets, as George's guitar gently weeps.
The ceiling above my head is an illusion,
i can feel the clouds sweeping
over my crown chakra. The words
leave me. The pen sweeps over
the paper which was primed for
it's destiny by an age forgotten
in my boyfriend's bedroom. Sometimes
you must forget something to really
remember it. A poem is no different.
One day someone will read this
and wonder. They will forget,
and remember, as one remembers the
final note at the end of 'A Day in the Life,'
which seemed to end The World and not just
a song. Do you sometimes wonder if it
really did? I have broken the fourth
wall. I wonder where i shall go when
it is over? A bookstore, to stare at
books of poetry which i am too poor
to buy (so i must make my own)
while people stand next to me and wear
scarves indoors and browse the same
poetry books. Are they poets? Sometimes i
think they are trying too hard. I wonder...
But the music has stopped, and i must
go and find some more.