Pianist:
A-B-D-D-E-D-D-G-G-A-A | A-B-A-D-D-E-D-G | A-B-A-B-G | D-B-A-G

Poet:
A girl sings to a piano man;
all breath and eyes pursue.
A steps to B, B swoons for D
and how my ears ache with glee
as the room morphs to sound:
people in their chairs cease to be
more than bodies in the path of G

I would give my left

nut for one night

with Natalie Portman.

Others might blurt something like this in

hyperbolic jest

to get their points across

or for a good laugh,

but not me.

By this point, Mr. Aubade was undoubtedly in love with Elba. Of course, there was not really much he could do about it, but there it was, staring back at him in the mirror when he brushed his teeth every morning; snapping, crackling, and popping at him every time he ate his breakfast cereal. It even followed him to work, quietly humming with the static that his car radio couldn’t seem to shake. Elba, Elba, Elba, said the static. No, no, no, replied Mr. Aubade, without much conviction.... more

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