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Saturday, April 15, 2006

April 15

Piano

Christ, he can play! The thin
notes crawl across your skin
like ants. The water in
your mouth turns into vin-
egar. Your eyes begin
to sting, the world to spin.
You sink into the din,
a pierced Mylar balloon.
You wake up (it's still June)
and leave before you swoon
again. A newsprint moon
corrupts the afternoon
sky like a blister. Soon
you won't recall the tune.

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