Poetry

Glenn McCrary


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3 october 2012

The Violinist’s Vendetta

As the hail makes love to the streets
I query its vendetta with I
What had I done to be defamed
By such unforeseen chagrin

The sound ‘tis the climax of the horizon
Echoes that of a violinist scarred by sexual mortification
The harmony plays in quite a lovely manner
Could hook one quickly if not careful

Appeased I sit in a wooden, black chair
And saturate in fine rock refrains
A pacifying compensation if I may say
A scripted version of hell






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