sore hands and fingers play play play sometimes i can play in the bungalow in the room window facing west she to the right undisturbed quiet- and have books of noted and that’s fine. the brahms symphony and the piano deconstructing repeat play bars over again. fine. out in the dark streets- rain drops veiling street lights cascade soft rain misting the street lights slipped out the back stairs passed the theatre door, there was no one waiting to catch me by surprise. did not know about that till now. look down the street to the end. past tunes in the little yellow book go faster and faster with both hands. she made me stay on longer to play the big piano and the scales warm up hands in hot then cold the hot then cold and then wait in the cold wild rain. play in slow motion while the heavy keys weight trilled the visioning vision of faced keys race. it’s all go on there get it? do you get it? in the bungalow on the big piano the chopin was better than in the class where the piano was in the corner close to the wall black coffin. strange room and sound eerie like a frozen wave and did not know that feeling of speechlessness till it arose ie could make a sound? ie could talk to you another way. silence of the voice 4.33 at the piano moves over keys over silent monolith listen listing the eyes and dotting notes on notes notes it was all go, the keys, the light no room for friday night and the church tron and the beethoven in his face.