Suppose I got an actual piano?

( Or, to be more bold )

That which an actual piano is but the mere material reflection…of…

And then everyone came to see and listen.

Or no one came to see or listen.

Let’s say, instead, that judges and surveillors came.

But some dreams might be inside me.

And even in the piano.

Some spirits eviscerate.

Ancient urgencies.

I imagine a piano. And all it arises from.

But there’s only this little room, really.

Even if it’s filled with stars that no one.

That no one could possibly observe.