the unknowable transforming point 86/ 90

433 little poems
fictive autobiographical gazing
through the piano looking glass

Echo quiet

You need to show me who you are
and I don’t know what your talking about
why analysis
why sonambulism
why falling out of a window
click of the tongue echo quiet
so you think that he was stoned
who knows what was happening
in his girlfriend’s head
when she shone that torch
in his eyes of complete stranger

At some point

Today I played schumann fantasie/ no 3
and bach partita in c minor
everything stays the same
yesterday I listened to valentina nyman
so interestingly well played
for music which barely listens to itself
self absorbed the writing
of an opportune build
tuesdays ok wednesdays
I can only assume that at some point
I must have been paying attention as the years rolled on

This crack

Deeper depth of meaning unfolding
street quiet for a change
and the tenor of the sound is little birds
and distant voices coming nearer
looking out of the long window
my tiny child inside felt even more remote
what a perfect escape into piano landscapes and veneers
characterisations of the yellow hedge
and walking like a painted doll tired of living
just a projection
why so full of black and white
colourless stream in the end
it was all to catch with me big time
like a breach and flood and then
this crack took years to sew itself back together again

Door paintings

3 door paintings
one black
one white
one flesh tint
what if I had been the martina of the piano
not possible
as athleticisms of the pianistic variety
were uninteresting
harmonies change
and the change breaks into the crease
from eight little canvases
in inks and pencil
again and again

Thinking invasion

Even quieter street below
for the time
being time
finished three good books
in time fortunately
the time fortunately
trim street
the little shop
long time ago now
she was never so small and illuminated
by the thoughts of adventure
that all tomorrows thinking invasion and fixation
began to thaw
like ice cream in a bowl soft cream
fat and sugar shh shh
can it be written about the ugly sisters and three bears
I daresay someone would be good at it once the others were in bed



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