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lyrics

West of Orion's eye
lies his starcluster embouchure,
half slack from stroke,
disease, you can count on it,
silver rainbow hums
off coiled brass.

The skronk nephews wrote
seven letter "songs"
two too many to reveal much
more than black currant jam
underfoot. Inspired to found
a new circus with the whistles
uncoiled from Rashaan's beard.

I came up on deck, breathing
above apple barrels, scattering
muscular throated mice,
they ran old circus
from every tent post, brush machinists,
untenable alto shardsmen.

Harp cables sit slack in sympathy,
arrayed black against the ebony broadsky.
My hands have not grown large enough
to pitch them in sympathy with my mind.

credits

from A Green Thousand, released January 1, 2013

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