made Bruckner look like a minimalist 
or it would've been  
if he'd pasted together  
all the thrown away sheets 
and when he was all done 
he wasn't 
he couldn't stop composing 
so he de de de de de de 
deconstructed the damn piano 
til his teeth fell out 
He couldn't stop bleeding 
So he pieced it all back together  
stuffed his mouth with black and white keys 
he went all the way back and then some 
the Romantic, the Classical, the Baroque ...
til he rediscovered the sound 
of the first damn fart, the first conversation 
of two cavemen grunting, the first whoop 
when the first caveless woman went walking 
He couldn't stop composing 
cause he knew then she'd be back  
or at least her memory would.



©2005 by Ray Sweatman