Ragtime piano sings— Like distorted hymns Like a preacher in a main street bar Like carvings in a wooden pew Its elegance is matched, with spit and grit. Piano keys clanging with the beer glasses, Cackling with the laughter Of a woman who calls herself divine. It hums, like running your fingers Against a man’s velvet suit; An ode to classic frivolousness. An ode to the antithesis of funk. Its beauty found in lieu of Thrown exclamations and Imperfect sensations— So the bar never seems to slow. THEOLOGY ON TAP MEGAN COLLOM
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