A whisper mere rustle of wind oran exhalation-howcan it haveconsciousness yetjust below the threshold ofhuman perception it voicedthoughtvibrations, which her violin resonated with-disquieting,leaving her wondering who was out there, invisible but present or prescientperhaps decedent? “Dad?” her father an immigrant peasanthis passion for musicgifted to her- Dead Silenceshe sighs, picks up her bow andon... Continue Reading →
drizzle of polka dotsnot dapple colored but tricklinga polish polka as they blithely dropyet why such merrimentin fallingto their death-their tiny time much better spentjoyfully dancing, not mourning wetlytearyuntil they hit the groundso hard and dryto splash and die Read More in Poetry
The piano,its dark wood alightbathed in brightthe light of herthe sight of herconsuming, her slim fingers,pastel shoulders looming,intruding in the brainthe kaleidoscopic musicmelodic, symphonic,tints purple and white andwildly illuminating as ifsound and vision crossedin synesthesia, in a seizureof convulsive delight-the imagery of mystery,whirlpool of affect,cascading perceptionof beauty, perfection.It was love that first night. Read More... Continue Reading →
