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
Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2019
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