Girl or Just Violence from Here: Poem Three
a blonde girl in red heels slides into black vinyl bar seat with mahogony man, tip fingers stroking rose neck. butterfly pressure of eight pianissimo notes bowed across her shoulders, like fine gold chain and cross draped down soft collarbones. he likes her red lipstick on the crystal tumbler, glittering brandy in sixteen tones and one small string of fire singing F-sharp. Pachabel was right to pattern his melody every four measures, a breath a gasp between phrases, between turning sheets and worming fingers breaking golden chains. worn white notes fit in a thorough-bass crescendo— eighths and sixteenths—until two fingers trill and chords lengthen, thicken to a single whole. ending with first, second, third violin, moaning, crossing, breathing as one. Then rest.