In glass and over ice,
or rolled in papers,
-filters spiced.
Confusion and euphoria,
I am married to these venoms.
Low to high the quartet's keening cry,
(horses' hair, mane? tail?)
Bow drawn, music into murdered sky
How beautiful the lights!
I am married to these nights.
The violin is a delicate instrument.
The hand that moves is finer still,
and still beneath the heart is finest, broken and recalcitrant
harmony, confusion, euphoria,
I am married to this music.
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Old things I have that escaped my critical purges, new things that come up -this is where I'm exposing some of my poems. Generally what will appear here will be only mildly edited and perhaps unrevised.
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