Читать книгу Storm Toward Morning - Malachi Black - Страница 8

Under an Eclipsing Moon

I am the black strokes on the baby grand

piano in whose hands I am tonight

beside the hospital, a yellow gram

of Valium with me in the bright

side of this house behind a darkened high

school baseball diamond. Here it’s too dim,

too overcast to know what sort of slim

lip the moon has grooved into the sky.

So what can I, whose veins are purpled through

with bits of broken glass and vodka,

whose heart claps like a shoe, what can I do

but play a drunken, pill-induced sonata,

watch it backflip and rebound, caterwauling

in a somersault of sound around the room?