right hand pointing

Poem to Beethoven (Poem No. 8 in F Major)

it’s a little past midnight

and you were wrong:

your last words were

“the comedy is over”

but it’s 12:10 am, january 24 2015,

and in my bedroom, your ghost

rises up from the record on the

turntable, cascades

through the speakers,

causing the walls to tremble

in the way that the cardiac muscle

shudders

before going stiff.