Democrat, Illinois - The ElectroLounge

102 !
Manifest
What won’t come is music half-called,
distracted, hungry hours, sunk in the province
of men. Lights, simmering smells, bread & stew.
Lure, of wine & silk. Someone nods & says
we’re mapping beauty, a hour nearer, a formula,
derived of striplings’ coos & closely tuned
compass. More smoke, distraction’s distraction.
Maybe the potion drunk an hour ago will able save the next.
Music half-called rings back in blind cries &
smoking metal. Sentiments & easy lusts.
Mapping beauty? another says. We can’t feed
ourselves & save the trees alike. What beauty
in a hungry child or a burnt acre? Legions
of men will be needed, maybe more than all
this world holds. Legions of men & centuries
of days before anything known, or we even begin.
Music, I call you now, from what I know
& much the rest, I call you now, music,
where you tend I will follow, what you
know I will believe. By star’s light &
dream glow will I map beauty, in songs
to manifest, music, I call to you now.
Each drift on his breeze, one wind, many winds,
one rhythm, one melody, many musics, hear my vow.
!"#$%#&'()#$*$+,$*$-.&#$/001!
!
******
May 17, 2008
Portland, Oregon