The Black Napkin Volume 1 Issue 5 - Page 31


when the piano is the only thing that talks back

& everything dead hums inside my hollow frame,

my body has learned to find loneliness in all its natural frequencies:

crackling of bones, an ancient harmony;

abrasion of skin, forgotten tongues/1

extinct2 dialect;

throat, melody of broken strings3

pulse, grace4 note begging your lungs for resonance;

&somehow my music always tends to get lost5 in the distortion.

&somehow this body is still a hollow thing shattering6 in yesterday’s wind7

&how can i

disappear so


if everything in me



1& what part of you ever existed unsevered

2 by​ which i mean, resurrected in some haunted grammar

3 this​ is the part where i tell you my depression is an orchestra

4 shrill,​ rarely heard; i.e. graceless

5 ​by which i mean found, in some sense

6 i.e. living

7 the only body or home i’ve ever known

8 contradiction; what parts of you exist anyways