Saturday, October 10, 2009

Sphere Was His Middle Name ( for him, the high priest)

Sphere Was His Middle Name
(for him, the high priest)

Orbiting out past fingertips,
a thumb-screwed flatted fifth
added to the scale of your name.

No bigger than Bigger
No whiter than Christmas

This cutting was no game.
Bamboo shoots from the bladed grass
beneath Nica's snow.

Bright right angles
of Bud's glass enclosure
Hope came to visit that day.

"You hear that?"
88 keys on the nuthouse wall.
And not a single lock

That midnight is an axis
from the dark tower
traveling light
under the bridge.

'Twas meant by what's round?
Ask him now.

By Justin Desmangles

this poem originally appeared in Drumvoices, Fall 2008, Volume 16

1 comment:

Ocean said...

This is wonderful. A tribute in the spirit of his music.