• A piano in my palm,
    the joke that makes me cry,
    an accordion is mad sexy,
    what with the pressing and the pulling.
    The accordion has a clumsy, endearing sort of grace
    an imperfect metaphor for discordant parts in harmony,
    the ridiculous mishmash of all our tediousness
    in orbit
    'round our cosmic aspirations;
    accordions make old-world party music
    and gypsy songs for the downtrodden joyful;
    you never hear one at a funeral mass,
    but once the grave is full and the mourners turn to wine
    and condole the night with music,
    music and fire,
    then the accordions will strike up
    with the pressing and the pulling
    and the weary will dance their wordless cry
    We are alive!
    We are alive!
    We are alive!