You want to put the barrel of the gun in their mouth,
to stop the noise drowning the music out;

in thrall to the curvatures described by birds in flight
& feelings inscribed in the silver-mirror light,

you want a language defiant of time:

                                    indelible lines,
chords of memory
                                    transcendental & sublime;

the contingencies of life unified


You want what you cannot have:

an abstract/visceral expression of all that


sound enclosed within the bone
where the brain sits
& compels you to this
                                    futile release,
knowing that we never can understand…

                                    but that it doesn’t matter,
so long as the song is as beautiful as you.

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