young women at the
symphony
tchaikovsky is no match
for the lure of cell phone light
status updates and the ubiquitous selfie
he doesn’t hold a candle
to the gleaming shining presence of the now
it comes with the territory of being dead
not even two visits from the usher
is enough to stop you
from chattering in between each movement of the fourth
coming on the heels
of destroying one by gabriel faure
yes, sweet young ladies,
all of the looks over the shoulders are for you
it doesn’t matter if most of the audience
looks just like the walking dead
a sea of pasty, white haired corpses
maybe it shouldn’t matter anyway
everything is silly if you think about it
tchaikovsky was a head case
and in no time the
world will be yours
to forget all about him if you like
so when the music ends
no needs to get up to applaud
just whip out the phones
young heirs to this crooked and wasted empire
snap, snap snap away
until your lion heart’s content
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