sexta-feira, abril 10, 2009

toast to glenn gould

a throw of the gourds, your fingers,
boards and finger boards
on dices, black and white,
sound and silence, that dice

an elephant heart, glen without
throat – a glee party of mirrors –
or valley. hidden sure sores,
art and fugue – a stilly night,

on a gold whistle, mind wanderings
the wander time slowly spent.
that clavier, hood holds wood engravings,

on a sunbeam, seems a long day-
dream or a gleam less crap:
craps falling into the ground.

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