Solitude pianos over wooden blank space, each stuck note cries between walls shorn of art, paintings slatted away, garden overgrown, plans forgiven for sins unknown. Unquiet graves? Why? Rage pervades the loam, examine any skull, and see how jaws gape & vacant eyes darkling stares describe this arc: abandoned, head turned away, faceless, hopeless, breathless, & changeless. Here’s a précis for the shattered mind, change beats you with a steady hand, from child to creature, from human to beast. each note strikes a sinew, twisting tissue into hot agony. paintings slatted away, nothing on the walls, so each note spikes like driven iron. Flesh & blood, soul & risen light fail forwards into shadow.
The Phantom of the Opera
What would you bargain for now when all the world repugns your words, maybe not the world, maybe not the thousand eyes that arrow Into that garden supposedly of love, shredding every leaf, tearing each fine flower, maybe not the thousand questions twisting into that pattering rain, supposedly clean, order muddies, chalk outlines dissolve, every face concealed or closed; inside, where carpets stain my domain must be, hidden from those open curtains where the red-haired man may see me, throw sticks & stones, cans of tomato juice, or broken boxes of cereal at me, if I conceal myself behind a mask, he may never recognize me, what would I bargain for now when silent my mind ponders how my injury began, whether fate or accident or price, whether pain or blood obtains. Only my fingers remit the rent, plagal chords finish the line, a summoning of opera spirits voices sweet pain torture me. Must this be also so?