Chandler Bing

it is a peculiar place to hide
between the lines of a staff
every once in a while, a limb or two peeks out
as if each note-head were concealing one
of a thousand branded faces

the composer, in a frantic storm
to blacken out his secrets
has left us with only this
(and those ghosts, whispering into
the backside of the page)

-E

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