Slanted slits of broken light
finds a way through cracked, corrupt blinds,
breaks apart on dusted strings,
divine reminder of laze and shortcomings,
Of my own dis, or misbelief.
If my fingers then could move
with precision and with confidence,
I would wow the world at large,
make women weep and wail.
Put tears in the eyes of the joyful,
and glee in the souls of the crestfallen.
Sounds in shorthand,
scaled down sonnets,
to follow that pendulum,
rhythmic click and swing,
sing it sweet to stick in stomachs,
blood red, steak savory.
