Tempo

Like Balkan women at a war-time funeral

the broken necks of guitars shriek once

Fiddles halt their precipitous bowing & scraping

& crane their turkey-heads thru the balusters

Oboes & flutes gape in bewilderment

the Epicurean Trombone yawns

Ah, puncture the rainbow

& pull the strings of color out

let the heart of the gray cloud

burst, & bleed through. . . . .

The body is flung

in its blue serge cape

red ribbons in perpetual memoriam

arrogant patches of recycled bumper stickers

Greenpeace, Greensleaves, & this guitar

kills fascists, now what Aryan Punk

has killed this famous gypsy guitar

the great glass Harmonium cries Prince Rupert Drops

the Ocarina waits behind drawn velvet curtains

for the young guitar who never comes

drawing on a fresh blunt as it rides

while somewhere in the eaves I wait

with my Jew’s Harp, & meditate.

This Poem was written by IG Agent 18.

Author of The Mixtape Of Taliesin