1 New Poem

The Music Study

The fuse, the spark
was drawn out on matching
tables for the theatrics
of it all:

All-dancing showcase
of pastime blues, grinning
with new-wed promise,
grinning with minded property.

As it was drowned in shadow,
growing faint, weary as
tides scrape on sea-glass,
a cry came:

Spared of all evening’s cold,
dulling sense with floated radiation
warmth these are not a making
of dreams except as test patterns.

Coming up, a cleaner place
of it was made for mirrored
time, a hunting whiff of
old things leaving:

Like tragedies, staged readings,
the jig is danced to float
about with accordion breath,
not a pen-scratching sense.