A thunderclap slugs sky like a knuckle duster
across a lackey’s pale stout face: the sound
quakes big, and the tones are grouped in clusters

inside the piano practice rooms. Rain blusters
as college boys dump their forearms (young and round)
upon the keys and drummers, pounding, muster

their own conviction to stir a storm. Thrusters
now thrown, bass burbling and hopping, bound
wood and strings and plastic all astir —

the swirling symphony howls loud when the luster
of rain cracks open the ceiling. All drown.
Silence: and the tones are grouped in clusters.

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