He was the crack and I was the pipe and these strings would act like the flint in a light. Oh, how fast those fingered nights would fly. In the old place, these nylons sang a tingle every time the train rolled by, but we’ve moved since then and now it’s so cold in this case that I can’t even swindle a shiver from these hand sanded sinews. This fretless neck leads to a head fat with frets that I’ve plumb played my last set. How long have I laid un-played in this velvet lined case? The man who made me used to leave a kiss on my bridge and then whip out a cotton wipe to wisp the lip-prints away. The longer I lay here, the more I feel like the ass that never got a goodbye. |
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Christian Anton Gerard, originally from Indiana, is currently living in Norfolk, VA, with his fiancé Lucy and their two black cats. He is working on his MFA at Old Dominion University and adjusting to life without clearly defined seasons. |