126. Callas Cries

So tired –
it is past anyone’s
logical bedtime

The crowd is still
cheering
the cast and crew
all
jubilant

I am so tired

Tired of E-flats
and flute cadenzas and
blood-soaked
gowns

I am tired of this
migrant
life,
receptions,
recitals,
rehearsals,

(Hear how the
audience roars –)

I missed a word tonight
in the duet with
Edgardo,
ran out of breath in the
mad scene…

Audiences hear
what they want to
hear:
success is in their
eager
hands

Roars of lions
today
jeers and boos
tomorrow –
what is success?

I failed today,
I could have done
better;
I can always do
better –
is it all absolute?
Is it just
subjective?

125. Immolates

Adorned in sumptuous silk,
cherry red, as on the
wedding
day;
phoenixes climb,
iridescent gold
along the
hem

It is cold;
it is late autumn;
mourners line the burial ground

Wails adorn the
grey and limpid
sky

Flames touch;
fabric and skin
ablaze in
leaping
flames

there are screams
and there is
crackling

They are victims of an
undying love;
too young,
naïve,
I know
nothing

Only to obey in
servitude,
fed and clothed in the
finest lies

only to live
in eternal solitude,
bound to an old
man who
so loved me
that he could not bear
to leave me living

so carved the
two characters
of my
lowly position

in an unrelenting
damning document
of
sacrifice.

124. Infinite Possibility

Amidst these grayscale skeletons
the mysteries of life are
solvable

Entwining voices, produced of
searching fingers,
dancing, inextricable

Counterpoint and
imitation, sequences
up and
down;
modulations,
stretto,
Tierce de
Picardie

Predictable,
inexplicable!

A mortal
who,
inspired by some grand
device
set forth these
mystic harmonies and
countersubjects

How small we
are,
fumbling with a simple
fugue, one
of a
lethal oeuvre
none can quite
explain!