Concerto Primo

Silence of me

                                                  Placing my fingers on the typewriter like a pianist

I am in a my very best sweat pants

A paint stained v neck

Flip Flops

 

I imagine no one came

I can see myself playing better with no one there

No one to clap

Or Boo

Just my version of a piano

Smiling genuinely

Content

 

I want to sleep on my books

As long as someone doesn’t burn them while I sleep

Not yet at least

I want use my records as pillows

Keep my knife close

Brass Knuckles on the desk

Loaded gun in my heart

 

I finish my concert of words

At first sight what a raw piece of melody

To me it was perfect

It will always be

I can’t wait until no one hears it when I pass

And it becomes part of the kindle to my demise