made Bruckner look like a minimalist�
or it would've been �
if he'd pasted together �
all the thrown away sheets�
and when he was all done�
he wasn't�
he couldn't stop composing�
so he de de de de de de�
deconstructed the damn piano�
til his teeth fell out�
He couldn't stop bleeding�
So he pieced it all back together �
stuffed his mouth with black and white keys�
he went all the way back and then some�
the Romantic, the Classical, the Baroque ...
til he rediscovered the sound�
of the first damn fart, the first conversation�
of two cavemen grunting, the first whoop�
when the first caveless woman went walking�
He couldn't stop composing�
cause he knew then she'd be back �
or at least her memory would.



�2005 by Ray Sweatman