Violin

I have fingers that tremble
and a taste for fine gold
hidden beneath the bleachers
while my feet tap to the rhythm
that echoes across empty fields
as I play the violin like a prodigy

These sounds are for the angels
and the demons that sit
in the space between
both shoulders bickering
back and forth; an eternal struggle

I have fingers that unravel
and the tongue of a serpent
hidden in poetic verses
and the reflection of the moon
as it waxes and wanes

These shivers are unsuspected
although pleasantly welcome
on the floor of the coliseum
and the warm waters
of tropical lagoons and leaks