WINTER ' FOURTEEN
jingling in my pockets
Like some monk in a scriptorium
Like a solitary gull slung around the neck of inspiration
Like a long shadow crossing their thresholds and blocking up the doorway with light
His questions unanswered but they will be answered according to the new tempo. Music, yes, that’s
the key – though into what door lock will I insert it? A question for myself, not for him nor some other
to give the unsung answer to. Irrefutable as these stones or shells to the ear and their undertones like a
wash of waves out of ancient chronicles.
-Tell me, would you…
I would and have and I will – and will again. Time will see to that. A dandy if ever there was one.
Cane and hat, the perfect attire of a mannerism that has Parisian precedence. But I’ll go. There and
anywhere else where I can follow the soul’s undertones into the startling for I would be startling.
-Tell me..
Yes and yes. I have and I will: did so once and will do so again for the thousand time like a loomweaver with ply and 7&