Saxophone notes crash
into each other,
words ebb away
and make visible
zigzags
into damp cave air.
Weaving and stumbling, poetry
is forced screaming
into existence,
like a baby
from the impatient mother.
It flaps a butterfly’s wing
and causes a hurricane
in the hearts of those
who hear it.
Poetry into music,
letters and images become chords and notes,
notes and chords.
Sound doesn’t know
which
way
to
turn.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment