I found it in the back
Behind the taxidermy and the clocks
The paper felt like skin, you know the feeling
When something
wants you to hold it
The ink was brown,
not black
The kind that comes from bodies I should have put it down
But you don't put things down, do you?
You take them to the counter
You take them to your home
So I plaited
Just my hands and the
keys Simple melody
A children's tune
almost But the second time through
There were other voices Where did they come from?
Not outside,
not the radio,
not my mouth But I felt them in my throat
Felt them
musing my throat Do you understand?
They were singing through the room,
through the walls
Old words I couldn't catch But my body understood
I guess
Stop playing it
My
hands just go there Muscle memory
Of someone
else's muscles The shop owner said
You bought it,
it's yours What does that mean when it owns you bad?
The
voices get louder More of them each time
A whole congregation In my small apartment
Using my furniture Using my air
Using my voice when I'm trying to sleep
So I play Every night I play
And they sing And I don't know what they're singing
But I know they're not finished