fiber optic ethics
entertwined in
the subscript
weave away
from life into
a straight
run at death


One Boy Plays the Violin One boy plays the violin, the other a flute, while the rest sing with their arms tucked between their legs. Polly is the only one not joining in. Perhaps the winter still mocks her in sullen strides. Oh but her face is one of a kind and must be hidden in my pocket. Slowly, the music curves around reaching a screeching pianissimo, toothache adagio. I throw a half dollar into the air. It too gets plucked from the cashmere clouds. My hand dives back behind my ear but it seems I got nothing in return. Polly moves a bit closer to the group her leg violently palpitating to the rhythms. Her enthusiasm hurls me into a trance until im writhing on theOne Boy Plays the Violin by ~Ex-Magician