thumb a latch
opening Pandora's box
for want of new sounds.
this is curiosity beyond reasonable doubt,
because music must be more
than 12 discreet tones.
cords, reeds, threads and rope
clash like dice,
like a wreck
in Vienna, the laboratory of world destruction
the wind of other planets
whistles in rusty vents;
the broken backed arpeggios
and colourful strokes
scrambling for lost keys to open draws.
the emancipation of dissonance
has ushered knives into the playground
the wind of other planets
whistles in rusty vents;
the broken backed arpeggios
and colourful strokes
scrambling for lost keys to open draws.
the emancipation of dissonance
has ushered knives into the playground
long nights drawing in
the redness of your hands,
your wife's lover's hanging head,
the 13 dreams that haunt from
Expressionist shadows.
a dodecaphonic legacy of flinches
the redness of your hands,
your wife's lover's hanging head,
the 13 dreams that haunt from
Expressionist shadows.
a dodecaphonic legacy of flinches
you pass to new generations.
Strauss said you would have been better off shovelling snow
(an arctic slap to your self styled blue)
but your clattering extra ribs have made Cages.
wasn't it you who sang,
if we must commit artistic suicide; we must live by it
Strauss said you would have been better off shovelling snow
(an arctic slap to your self styled blue)
but your clattering extra ribs have made Cages.
wasn't it you who sang,
if we must commit artistic suicide; we must live by it
?
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