Transit

With each one's scordatura, 
Before tuning
Being late is normal for a gathering show,
Far from any abyss or harmony
It took a long leap over Drama, where
Pains blushed a shame of fake
Reduced my pleasures to only dream
Of a plan that accompanies
Along sidewalks,
A helpless no rhymer's guitar.
Coming from medieval Cordoba
Spelling just a few sonnets of Shakespeare
What sense, doing without capitalization!
Free to argue,
I'd love to hear you whisper no name,
For, I hardly bear mine.