Pure Star

A trumpet played out
of the hole in my chest.
Long pining notes
sailing up into the air.
I tried to grab one
in my hand but they
split in two whenever
I got too close. Nothing
to worry about, nothing
I could do anything about,
so I put my hands under
my head, listened, wished
I had learned an instrument
but I never had the time,
the patient, or the talent.

Anthony R Cordello lives and works in Boston. He has work published in decomP magazinE, Jellyfish Review, Jersey Devil Press, Gravel, and The Airgonaut.

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