Monday, August 18, 2014

In the deep and empty quasma

 photo Antieval1.jpg


Through the breath of my brothers, by the strings
of my sisters, we convene in temples of sound, ruins
made of music to speak with the dead and the living.

Bones for flutes, sinew for strummers, pluckmeal for
fingers to savor the shape of smooth necks, wear the
blood of animal skin, roughing hair of the horsetailor.

What takes us to the stars delivered us from them, wave
on wave, note by note, through the stillborn quietus that
chants our unheard names in the deep and empty quasma.

Build for me an impossible god, with kind manners
and a diamond heart, make it weep for the sun at dawn,
make it yearn for its untomorrow when I am gone.

Joseph Gallo
August 7, 2014

 photo Antieval2.jpg


Blogger Kyle Kimberlin parried...


August 27, 2014 1:40 PM  
Blogger Joseph Gallo parried...

Thank you. :-)

August 29, 2014 2:08 PM  

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