A Piano for Hastened Times

By
The tips of my fingers glide on hostile territory.
I am lost in this dull continuum.
My elbows deviate from their structure.
I have given up my faith in passion.
I raise my chest in haughty reassurance
Of the power of the falling grains of sand.
But there is no song for the fearful
And I am, indeed, shaking.
I see you, deceitful mistress of time!
I hear your melody creeping into my place
And seeping into my veins.
And I Thrust myself in agony
At the speechless board.
And your music overpowers my silence.
The beard is no longer still.





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