27
when the piano is the only thing that talks back
& everything dead hums inside my hollow frame,
my body has learned to find loneliness in all its natural frequencies:
crackling of bones,
abrasion of skin,
extinct2 dialect;
throat,
pulse,
&somehow my music always tends to get lost5 in the distortion.
&somehow this body is still a hollow thing shattering6 in yesterday’s wind7
&how can i
disappear
silently
if everything
is8
screaming
1& what part of you ever existed unsevered
2 by which i mean, resurrected in some haunted grammar
3 this is the part where i tell you my depression is an orchestra
4 shrill, rarely heard; i.e. graceless
5 by which i mean found, in some sense
6 i.e. living
7 the only body or home i’ve ever known
8 contradiction; what parts of you exist anyways