Thursday, January 29, 2015

The Soul of a Viola





Furnished with the smoky alto
tessitura, timbre of the viol –
burnished by its ancient shadow
and inviolable mystery –

and yet the instrument that
Mozart chose to play in a quartet;
intimate with human dissonance
and syncopation – pressed

against the beat – the bleat
and pull – caress, distress –
the beckoning ambivalence
of hemiola: the soul of a viola.






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Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Last Resort




“Hang it all,”
he said
and then
he did.










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Tuesday, January 27, 2015

This




To say “there are those moments when”
betrays our impulse to believe that there
are ever any moments other than
the one we’re in.
Pretending there is more than this
has started to get tedious.
It bluntly blocks all bliss.










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Monday, January 26, 2015

We Never Sigh




We can’t recall the last time
we were vexed
by wondering what
we should take on next.

In fact, these days,
we’re not at all
perplexed
by anything.

It isn’t that we’ve heard the ring
of any bell of sweet illuminating truth.
We do not understand more in our dotage
than we did in youth.

We haven’t rid ourselves
of any exigency of incarnate life.
We shit, we eat, we sleep,
we sometimes take a husband, or a wife.

We just don’t see this
as occasion to feel strife.
We don’t know why.
We never sigh.





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