Cello Night At the Make-Out Room

18 Apr

He wails and wails, and the mewing says upbeat, but you know he doesn’t know his fragmented heart,as he protests his point with words like, “shiny”, “wooden,” as if feeling could mean just that. The sound of the trumpet lifts you and adjectives become full, hearty with the deep-throated cloying call of the undeniable instrument that melts down into your skin – the audience formed, constructed, shaped and welded like the rivets that form the structure your sitting in.

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