Glenn McCrary
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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