The Phenomenology of Angst

Fragmentation, acceleration
Peter Brotzmann
blasting, howling,
the world's sorrows and beauties
in my car.

Then...inside the store
Kenny G mangles an already
treacly Christmas song.

I fantasize:

The Highest Aesthetic Authorities apprehend G.--should have been done long ago...
They shear him of all hair above his neck.
They tie him to a wooden chair
in a room
with
Peter Brotzmann,
who proceeds to play every reed instrument
for two hours
with his trio.

What's left of G is
better for our world.
And I am vindicated.