Monday, June 1, 2015


Notes for a cinematic score
to accompany tragic memory sequences
coupled with a madman's impetus
for repetition and aloofness

"Why this is hell, nor am I out of it.
Think'st thou that I, who saw the face of God,
And tasted the eternal joys of heaven,
Am not tormented with ten thousand hells
In being deprived of everlasting bliss?
O Faustus, leave these frivolous demands
Which strike a terror to my fainting soul."

--Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593)
Doctor Faustus 3.76-82

Sadness grown familiar becomes a courteous
friend who politely requests admittance
with an intimate chamber audience
sequestered in a studious
and solemn head.

Somber tones from minor chords
--the initial notes neither depressive
nor too intensely sorrowful--rather, mindful
and reflectively pensive about our common
mortal toil shared among all people
throughout all written history
and even before when stories
were heralded and preserved
by lineages of elder voices
jawing tribal sagas and songs
beneath pale moon and stars
to a circle of inspired youths.

Ennui sleeps upon calm seas,
shadows and light… reflections
from the depths--de profundis
tears hardened into pearls;
briny blue and green glass
the remnants of human eyes.

Elegies written for his ordinary brown house
occupying a sedate subdivision street
in a world that echoed dusk lit child-
hood hide and go seek beneath late
summer firefly firmament--insect mating
rituals augmented by their small gold bodies
brightly observed from darkened windows
in a lone room where my virginity
was murdered by his veiny malleus
wedged firmly inside warm innocence
with forethought and malice
most foul past midnight.

Gag reflex recollections rethreaded,
cinematic horror artfully portrayed
in a lone theater that houses one.

Forgetting and Remembering dismissed
from their inattentive services…
Paper cut stewards who file stories
written by a misanthrope's fist
in a cruel and furious font.

Unsettling wagers unspoken…
Willingly sacrificing this tainted
past for those answers Faustus
gained by dread and dedicated
investigations into philosophy
and art--his apt glimpses deep
into dark forest metaphors
conceived without regret.


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