w
wThe democratic pianoxx12 November 2010
Beams full of the corpses of nails
stained glass in a state of
partial undress
we all play the democratic piano
decidedly in randomness
we are not as old as the books, mostly
hexagonal tiles lie lazy on the breathing
woodwork, white mortar telling us
how it would like to bleed
everyone's poems are here but mine
I shall plant seeds between the books
they might have grown up next time
here in this shop they're all younger than
me, none of them ever used a typewriter,
I like that
I
wrote The democratic piano in this famed English language bookshop in
Paris. It actually has the piano, upstairs with the sink, some sofas and
for that matter the typewriter as well . . .
All poems and other texts on this site are the copyright of Richard Edward Hugh Castellan 2009