January 9, 2018
My world slants
as I march to the scaffold—
a stage
meticulously adorned with ribbons
and holiday wreaths.
Imprisoned to the bench,
my hands
are shackled to the ivory;
witnesses watch
as I carry out the crime.

The piano—polished, refined,

emits a sound comically grotesque.

When the torment ends
I stand. I bow.

Apologies on my tongue.

Like a noose
pity hangs


The dissonant harmony,
it fades
into the audience
with me.

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