Performancer
hands
wolf spiders over the keys,
they ravage the sonata,
the piano a coffin black.
the audience swilled
by the eloquent caterwaul
of the furioso octaves--
this peyote and hypnosis,
this tempest of burning crickets
that clash to wisp away.
the notes themselves
relieved by their own harsh deaths.
the torment in the chords
somehow fragile, even so, of consonance,
to brush pretty wings.
wings
they levitate torn.
and the split feathers
and the shreds of tranquility
bare no patient descent.
instead bridges.
chasms.
a confusion of sharps and aortas,
lost in bittersweet passages,
before the silence.
============================
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment