A Piece for a Soloist and Orchestra


the low screeching of dawn
orchestrates timid footsteps

it’s the time of year when the weeping violins shed skins and emerge as brass but they (still) tell us to hide our children,
so we do

and they reproduce

despite our efforts
nothing is fixed

I escaped early-

mute and standing straight, carrying bags- oh,

ugly people, ugly streets,
ugly thoughts, ugly me
it’s dreadful

desiring
hollow contentment to pierce this thinning scalp

but what else?


it’s cracking at noon and the music’s
depleting

open mouths open eyes inhale
debris in C minor
expecting?

(exhausted fulfillment)
evening
the exposed and inconsolable mothers marvel the translucence of time while their babies claw at endometrium and jab their uteri
alone-
just
Dying

to get out

and scream