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The patrons moved by her angelic harp, never knowing her endless suffering...

FALLING

her silver harp
plinks and plucks

her mind dull
with angel hair

                        falling

her satin white robe
darkened with soot

the sole of a pimp
            imprinted on it

with fine print
 underneath

            “keep playing”
            her calloused fingers

plink and pluck
ground down to the nub

    a puddle of blood
at the harmonious base

the symphony hails her
as a progeny case

           “she never stops playing”
            the fame of this place

like a cornstalk grows
the crowds ballyhoo

as ethereal crows
              stalk

‘tis hell for her
as they cheer and praise

her mangled tears
                                   falling

on deaf ears
the spirits magnify

this lost cause
with never ending applause

she begs with her feathery tongue
“please, please, please”

but they cackle with black strap molasses brew
the brouhaha of her superior selection

strums and slices
delicately ices

  her fate


6/18/2019

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