Falling

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