You suppose that by breaking this piccolo you will
            put an end to the forbidden tunes.
You delude yourself.
I will continue to be sung.
And hammered out on drums.
I will seep into the dreams of your children and they shall
            wake up humming me
I will fill the airways.
Like baby spiders blowing in the wind on silky parachutes I will
          colonize your trees and lawns and gardens with song-like webs.
Your neighbors will whistle me as they walk down the street in front
            of your house.
On some Damascus day you too will find me irresistible and will
            play me like a CD as you drive down roads to new places.

          Jay Edson