horses
spears,
bad bad bad...
things to rinse
from our faces
and places
and spaces
bad stuff, perfect violins,
those chords and these ghastly pictures,
evocative, suggestive, inspired pictures
glimmer through their walls,
asking to
be played
as I sit and stare
at the grim notes
black dots...
falling
rising black
on white.
Christo, March 2000