boy.You're staring into her with voyeuristic miscalculations
down into her well of sounds
strings aligned
so as to hum
as to hum...
as humming
is to
resonate a million chords
inside her curved frame
in the hopes of strinking
one.
Chance
it.
Chance it with every hymn within you.
You play her body;
strike her keys;
yet she screams out of tune.
As a novice prodigy,
on his first lesson,
nervous harpsichord hammers
stiffened with age,
dusty with virginity.
Palms/sweat
brain/alive
trying to remember what note is next
what note is next
what note is next;
lights beat down on you.
Loosen your tie
bite your lip
and continue.
Loosen your constrictive silken misshapen mishap ribbon...
You hear the notes but cannot reproduce them
You hear the notes but cannot reproduce them
reproduce them
them
that are heard
ECHOING
inside her glorious wooden frame.
Your fingers are still clumsy;
random, atonal, patternless
Clanging...
is the best that you can do.
She sings
she sings in ugly disappointment
as the coiled wires resound in and quiver in her hollows
she is empty
swelled of music.
she is full
unwittingly sounding out what it should be:
white
white...
black white black with one hand;
black, white...
white white white,
the other.
Slipped.
fingers.
hit.
the wrong.
keys: you,
arising from the bench
she,
her last note tremors in her
keys moist with your mistakes....
Quasi-facetious
boy.
You must be
you are
you have done your first recital.