inspired by a black and white photo
What the hell are you doing here?
You, Thom, etherized sound upon a table
Wisely able to unbound,
Capable to capture and to move the soul
Merely sonically, merely, sonically.
Sonic, and mere.
So, you really are an adverb;
So, and in such manner, you preside
Of music, on music
With several knives out
To carefully dice the already oft-crackéd dome
Under whose canopy a panoply of sounds
You kneel in the place where prayer has been valid,
Paying homage at altars of known gods, singing the body electric,
Pricking the memory to remember the future,
Where sounds were always words,
When sounds will become them again
When the fire and the rose are one,
When passion and reason, righteousness and peace,
Each kiss the other.