Self- conscious ache at fifty-two

Saggy in belly and chin

Swollen right foot


Furiously defiant in crowds

Laughing with people not even liked

6 of white

Even beer crowds become funny


“Rachmaninoff” she wants to say

“Elgar cello concerto, 2nd movement,

Jacqueline Du Prè?”

“Ever played F# chromatic scale, contrasting motion, 3 octaves?

That one was a bastard, hey?”


The farmer programs her body

Like a beginner piano book

“C C C C D D D D





A washing machine manual

Button A, button B, turn knob


Washing done



Once he was a savior

A need, not a want


Now he’s an impasse snapping violin strings

His angry back

the fermata of Prokofiev


There’s a symphony

In her daughter’s eyes


All of Bach’s Preludes and Fugues

In the spine of her son


She waits at the STOP sign that is her life

She waits to break glass

Burn XXL

Scream into the night


Debussy is not dead!













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