Tuesday, April 1, 2014

The Death of Chopin as a Skit on Saturday Night Live

barque erode
in F-sharp major Jane
you ignorant slut
i'll fall down now
into your revolutionary
arms a maypole
in scotland
a nocturne faun'd
that my wrists each
were your long neck
and my hands like rays
over polished coral faces
herms direct to math
in praise of this television speed
to all things remote at
alas you had me Jane
bound in the final opus
in the Place Vendôme
my family around me on my
deathbed painting
securely alone
this oval sky like George
I hope Lord Torpichen
will not think of these green jellied lungs
you must
Ludwika please
don't take my drunken heart
quite so literally