Recorded by the author on July 26, 2024 at The Mark Twain House & Museum
Someone has thrown sharp red on pink,
and atonal shards of swirling hail
now strike the dormant velvet floors.
Someone has taken Roman elegance
and torn it into blues licks crawling the walls
now shattering the golden candelabra.
Someone has displaced boring Chopin
and flung him into pulsating specters of light
now dancing not in waltz, but in feverish ecstasy.
Someone has devoured the innocent piano
and flipped the paintings upside down
now murdering rose-cheeked order where she sleeps.
Insane skeletons made of black restless harmonies
burn their cigarette butts into the plush sofas…
cross-legged images howl from the mirrors—
What good music was ever made from manners?