Poem: On and on played they

In the corner of the ruined room,
she was crying,
frightened of herself
and angry at us.

‘Freedom is full of monsters.
Just get out.’

I ran to summer
in the next room,
where the Goes Orchestral band members,
led by the red-haired midget on saxophone,
made intricate, drug-induced patterns on the stage.

On and on played they.
I wish they were more self-critical.

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