This makes no sense.
What is this sound?
Who plays this music,
where there is no instrument,
whereas across the road
there are butterflies out of the glass jar?
The hoof of dust trample
where mists of curvity are quelled
in straight lines,
and musical notes
halt their dances
to characters
and tread all their twirls to spools
and death like the spider webs
spread in silence as a tune
in blank as paint in crystal clarity,
as dust in cracks on the windshields, mirrors,
as wrinkles spread permanently on the temporal objects.
Now I see the beat
Temporal and permanent, temporal and permanent
oaring oppositely, tick-tack, tick-tack,
now with a single oar
in the magic wand of a maestro.
