i'm sitting at marthes's piano, my fingers gliding across the new keys. new pianos are like new shoes -- you have to break them in, get them dirty. my hands slip and stumble like some kid who's never ice skated before and i let the room know i am very drunk. they already know, i know.
i play this version of "rain song" by led zeppelin that i rewrote just for piano and this hipster in the room says, "i know this! this is french" and she sounds like an idiot but i don't say anything. i pour my breath into the keys, i pour myself into the body -- my fingers mirror the hammers on the inside, i know. i am leaving my mark, a stain, a fleeting part of myself; and that is all that matters
