after the großartig composers...
there can only be
                    the great pianists...
you can do all you want
appreciating someone like
   joe satriani:
             but a guitar can never
become a piano:
   none of that hushes suspense
of a piano soloist...
  even a violin requires back-up
(akin to schindler's list
main theme)...
           but... piano...
                 schumann,
                satie,
              debussy,
         ­        chopin,
                    liszt...
                  schubert..­.
          campanella's
   reinterpretation of wagner...
a piano can stand
alone,
        and doesn't even,
remotely,
  require the harangue
of an orchestra
  (listen 'ere,
you uneducated swine -
sort of scenario)...
     no opera...
            but piano:
like... listening to the uniformity
of rain drops
  falling onto a tin roof...
mind you:
i have to return
to the slaughterhouse music
of modernity
   with its heavy influence
on stressing rhythm, drum...
as much as i do enjoy
the aloofness,
   the ivory tower music...
   i have to come down
to the horse-hooves
and buckles
    of THUMP... THUMP...
as much as i appreciate it...
i can't be sat
next to these porcelain
            aenemics for long...
from on high,
to from down below...
       i need the current music
of the slaughterhouse.
- but only a piano can pierce
the silence...
   and relieve something
akin to the royal albert
concern hall...
        with an unanimous
revelation of...
   that trembling
before the satiated
             sound of: a sigh;
as if to confirm:
            yes... you are alive.