listening to the playing of
strings
a note plucked a note plunked
notes plucked and on and on in delirious delicious order
in maddening Disorder
if listened to hard enough
we can learn to despise its
notes and the strings theyre played on
for every note plucked
a
tick comes off our lives
a grain of sand freefalls
into
the basin of our hourglass
listening to the music playing inside his headset
was the hardest thing he really ever had to
do
he
didnt enter this World with the unspoken and often unrealized advantages a
healthy
child is born with
sadly
his
parents should never have had him
they
werent called birth parents then
his father wasnt married to his mother
he
was defective
his mother birthed him and before leaving the hospital she signed him
over to the
protection of the State
she was also defective
they must have been trying to
prove they werent
that
they could do what nondefective people could do
have
sex
and between them they created a
defective child
a bastard
talk about being forced to play
a shitty poker hand
he loved listening to music
though
there wasnt anything he
preferred to it
it didnt try to make him do anything
that would later prove to be irrelevant to his
existence
existence
the
State fed and clothed him
he
had shelter
he wasnt born to bootstraps
he was born
and if
it wasnt for the hospitals lifesaving procedures their intervention the existing
protocol which enforced and deemed
their efforts
he wouldnt have survived his
opening gambit
was it the right choice
he didnt know
his only play in the whole of
it was not dying
his
body must have liked the experience
he didnt know a lot
but he knew he loved music
and he knew its strains its bit by bit by bit would accompany him
until it stepped aside
Ceased and allowed him to hear the last grain of
sand fall
like
the scream of a red meterorite
through
the air
Twosday afternoon, 26 8.
14
