Take me to Vienna where the music walks.
Where the buildings invite you to sit,
And accompany them for a cup of melange.
Where the many palace gardens have jovial pique-niques,
With their bikes resting by the trees.

Take me to Vienna where life ebbs out
Where the past lives on,
And composers wave out the windows.

Take me to Klimt's golden city,
The city where even the grey Donau is welcoming.
Take me to Vienna and don't take me back.

do you honestly believe
that just because she has
those infamous violin hips
that gives you any right
to play her?

you’ll be in for a
rude awakening
when you finally realize
no sweet harmony will
come from her

you will not hold her
by her delicate neck
and drag your worn bow
across her thin, ****** strings
as if she was the first, or last
orchestra instrument of yours

do not forget about
deep viola, and intuitive cello
do not mock mighty trumpet and jazzy sax
with your tenuous conductor’s wand
you are no master of a spectacular concerto.

go away Amadeus, you’ve lost your mind
if you can sit down comfortably
and think you won’t have to pay for
defacing every instrument in this precious ensemble
you once had.
-11/13/17 c.m.