1. His piano played faith with taste and other terrifically tumultuous enunciations if it must – just go so very gently into the evening time
2. With its sporadic sense of wisdom washed and brushed and beautifully bruisedAgainst the breeze of the listening windowpane… With-in, as the boisterous breath of the stay-awhile Brain- a comforting feeling shared ALL of its own, and with these people who play at their own irregular pace
3. Remains a landscape of Indented Happiness and all other classically classless things, which keep whispering loudly
4. Inside of his residential mind – a rent that he never meant to pay but for the weight of his imagination’s return and delicate delay
AND prone, purely, to staying the nocturnally upright distance again…
5. This, His chief sense of concentration, IS Outrageously and Uproariously unique because.. honest and instrumentally put and at the bones of its truth, IT HAS TO BE.