How to Kill a Song

I

Our goals drowned in cinderblock shadows, the prisoners snaked into the yard like demented school kids on a field trip. Then, basketballs and cigarettes filled the air; hovering orange planets, large and small, sneaking into the smoky underworld for a taste of our sequestered lunacy.

II

We hid little baggies of sunshine in our waistbands to blind the assassin memories that returned every night to filet away a bit more of our humanity. Seemed like the music in my belly had shriveled and died. An immaculate miscarriage. The hemorrhage was ceaseless.

III

They call the process social rehabilitation. Felt more like slow disintegration. It was a long time ago, but, many of the parts they amputated still haven’t regenerated. Start a new life? Nope. A soulless music man could never make a living in this town.  

Reviews

[L. Edward Neale]

"Seemed like the music in my belly had shrivelled and died. An immaculate miscarriage. The haemorage was ceaseless." I just had to write it out to absorb it and share that poetic moment. Wow I'm in love with this line. This whole piece in fact floats my boat, but that line is wow burger with fries and then some...