climbing up through the birkshires
working on my career
as a free-jazz pianist
playing at country fairs

carnies with torpedos
pressing against cracked submarine lips
sitting off to the side
i'm playing for tips

he tells me
"keep an eye on the foot; ear to the eyes"
my fingers should coincide
with the intensity of the ride

dragging, clunking
like a drunken boyish queen
rusty parts double into convulsions
and i begin to scream.
Wow, i think this is the first time I've read somethign from you and got into it straight away. You've managed to tell quite a simple story without being boring, and that's worth props. Some really steller imagery here.