Burgundy, the color of a dress I’ve never worn to an occasion that never occurred
Velvet lined coffin Where lies the violin There lies its song
The heart of fiddle strings that bare of arms That heart that sings, speaks, no, yells to the hands that can’t respond! to a mind that can’t remember I was drowning in some future not a violinist’s
“Alive with Pleasure” read the billboard slogan for cigarettes behind the happy couple running out into their future
Forcing the hand of marriage Waving goodbye to my life from a rooftop in Scranton as the wind hauled my laundry three city blocks dumping my unders on Saint Luke’s sills sailing my sheets up Wyoming Avenue
I lay on the tar and pebble roof watching pigeons swirl listening to traffic pass on the street below The moment you know you’ve made the mistake you can’t return from....
Wherever my towels have blown? I wish them well....