I see it
in the dim corner
of the room

strung with
heavy weight
shiny brass

there are scars on the neck
where the choker goes for
giving a song a new voice

the dark wear and slipshod binding on
its ovals and holes and curves
and the head like a bat’s wing opening

this sinister beauty is
enough itself
to stand alone

so what am I to it?
I am no instrument
no mover of air

truly neither singer nor song
neither cheers nor applause
just the rack that holds it up

when it has settled
into silence
I put it down

and lie awake thinking:
I am not music
enough for her

I am positive I am destined for something. No doubt.

I guess I’m the kind of person who could be dangerous, if it’s not channeled correctly.

A question for you, one that may be a bit daunting…

Tell the truth: are you destined for something?

Do you know something’s waiting for you and you alone to do or be? Something the world needs, wants, can’t do without, and only you can deliver it?

Hmmm?