A selection from my chapbook, The Trumpet Soliloquies

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It blows raw and sour

Deaf to pedestrian complaints,

Society,

Thin-skinned prey assaulted by the

Whoops and suction of intemperate gales.

No mercy, no song.

Unbridled aural contempt,

Feral horses driven by vile ancient curses,

Trampling civilization and then

Running themselves to death.

He pulls the instrument case to his chest

Deflects the blows,

Mourns the loss of a hat swiped in a rude gust,

And listens, despite himself, for clues in the howling wind

That might shred his polite technique

And unleash a torrent

At audiences that can find no shelter

Against the singular claim of his gift.

By Douglas Glenn Clark

From: United States

Website: https://www.douglasglennclark.com/

Twitter: authorWclasses