No just proof —

The Conservatory’s always nothing much minus common sense.

Come out and play, practice, sample finding out
the masked hostility and indecisiveness of national honor
backed up with inexact and multiple scents of feeling, crooning sounds
from what we were doing before [give me a sec..] took hold,
instantly recognized as identity.

Identity and hardened m.o.’s from silences and retakes
and feral scents of feeling cornered in a long, measured piano lesson.

(Argument intact once you forget some are more alive to practice all of this.)