The brass winds up the old tune again, a
pleasant bluesy brewing. It could be
a shaded New Orleans café where
One enjoys coffee and odes to rejection,
dejection,
denial,
recreation, You name it.
The breezes wail piteously – and die out.
Neo-jazz? The Eyes undroop lazily.
What a nice change.
Fuzz away, boys.
But the winds died out, my Lord.
Why, so they did, He smiles kindly.
(He was awake all the time, really.)
Infinity is the moment just after the applause,
just before the unveiling.
All eyes on stage. Blackness.
And then, one mellow, sad flute.
Of course, no One is fooled.
And those who see, see him turn
To the East, expectant as –
Flute fades.
And THEN
a blinding flash of fire in the oval
rips through the shadow swathes of God-only-knows-what
Where the uncovered orchestra (right there all along)
Unleashes itself in a tempest,
Charging the stairway to heaven
along quivering staves, pounding them down,
Flinging itself along like a snake of flame,
As part upon part -
Piano is really a high form of percussion,
the violins could stop traffic, presto, presto,
pipe up, everyone
- that lay ages half-finished
in its tissue, flies toward the others
and fits. Crash. Boom.
Sawdust everywhere.
Animato.
Crescendo.
A melodic rush, and then the inevitable.
Perfection, perfection, the Good ones harped,
Yes, the orchestra plays back, perfection,
Perfection,
louder - PERFECTION!!! -
utter
and complete
annihilation.
Crescendo.
Crescendo.
Crescendo.