The scroll of shadows gentles the flat shape
Of wallpapered surfaces while sunlight,
Elliptic and crimped through drawn slatted shades,
Understates its own grace notes in grades
Of gold that no one would die for, or fight
To distraction’s pure gain — so drop the drape
And return to counterpoint’s metronome.
Measured impositions wait to resume.
One moment kills the next in crude cascades
Of dark on light on final dark. Though night
Recites its nocturnes to beautifully ape
Conservatory postures, scraps of crape
Conceal blisters on cherry veneer slight
As settled dust. So Grecian colonnades,
Redundant with gods, once held heaven’s dome.
The measured dispositions must resume.
Practical inspiration finds escape
In imperfect struggling sounds that, weighed
To balance, make a sacrifice of delight.
So bully the muse if you must — incite
The bristled scales on a dragon’s back, trade
On spider webs, hammer the sour grape —
But time with both its hands will push you home
To measured compositions.
Now. Resume.
ABCDEFGA–nice. Hammer the sour grape indeed.