There can be tenderness in the cedar wrapped satin instrument of torture I beat with a hammer until it believes it is really a foot & my bloody feet look good in the field like how they would appear in leaving the slender green gashes make an alphabet of that way over there! scatological departure with an objective so clear and coiled its
modesty will make you weep
The modesty of a Black pianist because it is not sublimated rage makes me weep
that pathological tenderness of this and this and this black body bleeding nods and curses seeps into the dirt as render then whatever murder silence is
His immersive sincerity his endless childhood a rubric for the silly hope we all keep in our skin like buckets of candy and the sugar never expires but its sweet fades to the faint funk of daylight in a movie
What a terrible way to keep a record
