He smells something dusty at the end.
So he looks and finds a piano framed
over top of where the wood would bend
his fingers call the sounds that can’t be named,
now silent the noise like a cat blinks
and falls to where it’s grace has aimed
The sun falls like midday isn’t what he thinks
and his dream has become a toy
spinning fast and pouring drinks,
an adult man made to give joy,
and the noise and the sun are a trend
made to turn money into a boy.