My love sleeps in the other room
while I mouth the words that
my fingers produce, without
regard to tone, musicality,
or timbre.
But what if I add a chorus
to this possibly rousing
dirge; my fingers produce,
without regard to tone.
At the piano, later, more
like a hope, that I might
craft a cackle that sounds
like a joke: my fingers
produce, without regard
to tone.
Another minute, perhaps
four, and we will score
the brightness for its
galvanic properties,
or something chemical my
fingers produce, without
regard to tone.
Roman Ryan 