Printable Version | More in this collection | Search:

| << Johnstown | Eleven Aprils >>


The Requiem

by Barrett Warner

    The voice of her leaving
    still rings in my heart,
    a language of doorbells,
    wind chimes and telephones,
    sound waves turned into light
    and the light dancing
    mirror to mirror
    until it becomes a noise all over,
    bending and loud and rhythmless,
    a broken muffler dragging
    behind a speeding dark sedan,
    a heavy metal drifting
    across the periodic table.

    They don't give Grammies
    for this kind of music,
    but I'm a radio on two legs,
    wireless, my eyes sparkling
    with its maddening hertz.
    Listening to this strange Mozart
    I wonder how many more centuries
    until we invent the piano
    he was fingering in his mind,

    and when, when will our hearts
    be big enough to play that song?


Page generated by the dadaPHP system.

0.0073 sec.