chorale’s blog

what seemed an impregnable cache, immune to theft
was stolen, it was my rhythm, not your poetry,
my exegesis of symphonic life, in that parallel music,
shall we speak of universals and eternals?
I lost my way during several attempts to find it
the world is composed of sins, ruled by instincts
deeper than lethargy, virtue is vapor, more perplexing
you are all around me in its bodily reminders,
the heaps of notes, cramped odors of obsession,
in the intimate intrusion of the massive bed,
where I'd lain with harmony in a hot drive
to dissent, to subvert, to fly like the gypsy
from what had passed for usual wisdom,
denying tedium, deny the given, the received,
the begotten, the whole solicitous silliness;
behold how these strings, wan and magical
flood the sinews of our melody, it was then
I'd caught, vibrating under your cajoling words,
an unsaid, electric burr that seemed to echo;
I had served my purpose: good-bye.

You would never stray
from the path we had both started on
leaving me to rub smudges
from a name we share
for I am a storm
when I hadn't been crashing
I had been brewing
inside you
this interlude we see
is a natural corollary of analogy
the logical ghost which follows impulse
if it can be shredded and scattered
lightening meteors are everywhere
corpuscles are both causes and effects
nothing has chassis or stasis
reason itself is merely a flux
passion seeps and seeps and never sleeps
and you, even you can be spurred
it isn't love that has wronged us
we had run away from love
and my love
my silhouette is at all cost
guaranteed to linger
it is a force not a thing
a function that extends through the space
and therefore,
even if not wholly understood
it could be after a fashion,
trusted.