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A Poem About Miracles

Why don't the records go blankthe instant the singer dies?

Oh,

I know there are explanationsbut they don't convince meI'm still

When I hear the dead

As for orchestra'sI expect the

To fall silent one by oneas the musicians succumb to cancer and heart diseaseso that toward the endI turn on a disclabelled Gotterdammerungand all that comes outis the sound of one sick old manscraping a shaky bowacross an out-of-tune fiddle.

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Рудбекия (Золотые шары)
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