they called her a deep fiend
a noted fanatic a sheet addict,
with her face in pillows
automatic static was a habit,
electric measures of endeavors
left notes musically classic,
range worth 5 times more than
his bread could basket,
and her body could modulate
in every sense: scales elastic,
no piece
could pass it
up,
and down,
she would sway and syncopate
indicate and accent-uate,
each rhythmical coin that hit the floor,
'til the beat was off then she'd ask for more,
'til her rent was paid and bills were sure,
or until her chords where resolved
and her mind deemed free:
when each harmonious moan
could live vicariously.
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