The Wake

The piano tapered at the seams
Filled over the strings
With water
Chocked thick
With Dust
From twenty years’ skin
And fingers shredding into oblivion

Letting crimson seep
Through piano pores
Warbling the sound
Through the mic
To the mixer

Varying the wave
As the liquid drains
And the muffling wanes
Allowing delay to emerge
From the bleeding thing
Thundering descending minors
In low registry
In strange timing
While shifting
From the strings to the keys
Mutilating fingers
Crying
With hair in his eyes
And emotions unsheathed