Cellos are often asphyxiated by clean porcelain hands through the midnight gale.
After the radio broke, we began to dress in shattered cassette tapes.
Answering machines get glimpses of bad hair days and bloody guitar strings.
Lovers in need of organs only rot as lovely as the fruit.
Spinning CDs reflect old fingerprints when you breathe against the glass of the jukebox.
Soft needles knew the beating heart beside the municipal garbage can on Christmas Eve. in Boston.
