the Beatkeeper

i had a harp and had a secret voice that no one heard its amanes, its sorrowful cadences hanging from the new moons tip, suspended shy in the darks crisp air like a sonata, a dirge, a wail, like a scarecrow above the bazaar, its empty stalls and more. i tried again to force my soul at least to rise above this bed to soar and pin the nurses hats onto a stem their knuckles to decorate the prow, their armpit scents to spice the hull to gaze at least into the sails of the dark ship that was to sway me gently to find the other shore, but their claws held onto me tight and tighter, pressing me back into my bone, my spleen, my corpse, my anger, my molecules of clay, my disembodies selves. this music, this music, this music, bulging to burst!