Soundtrack
Brushes on a snare head played
adagietto
or poorly tuned banjo strings
strummed
adagissimo with low laconic
trumpet fills set the
proper tone for that
endless walk from bed to
coffee cup,
a mote of glockenspiel
here and there, a
bridge to the feathery tabernacle
choir alight in the gathered
looming
trees that lean in toward
the pocket porch,
natty barber shop quartet in
matching
jackets of sycamore bark, jittery
rhythm section of
squirrels running scales
allegretto up and down their
papery
lapels signifies a change
in tempo,
perhaps the introduction
of a clave
stabbing blindly at the
round clear tones oozing
from a brace of oboes marching
enfatico
beneath the crisp flapping
banners of a
Kottke tune, Vaseline
Machine Gun as luck
would have it, stitching
the dirt in my wake
with staccato rounds that
trace my descent
into days final movement, the
piece played
improvvisando, only a
touch lugubre;
Grand Pause exhaling in
fading fermata.
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