Rappaport's Piano Workshop: an Octave of American Sentences DRAFT

If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times: alight from the plinth! 

Aim not for the cotten bales several stories below you still see. 

Are you timing me, and if so why are you not being transparent? 

You vocalize as the arms of the train track go down, no engine in sight.

Slam shut instruments insisting on soprano alto tenor bass. 

Milk light melody falls from the bell of the unpolished baritone. 

Explosive fraternizing teases the quotient of varicose veins. 

Rappaport's Piano Workshop hiphops me back to the Weber grand.