Open throats heave-ho
a row of golden Schirmer,
dog-eared Thompson.
Black ants with thin waists,
whole abdomens, Chopin the page,
goose-step under Volga boatmen.
Go to the foot of our stairs!
Look each white step with expectancy,
the inky eutony of dark between.
Liszt frowns over a chop waltz,
glissando, the slaughter of his love dream
one more time.
