Nocturne
purpleorangeblue sky. Lost, soaking in that first drip, drop and every (every) sighharmonyword. Still lost, hearing only the symphony mid-creation, traumatic melodies, botched hopes, and bridges of seedling dreams...Should have known, should have picked up on the signs--pathetic fallacy. pathetic, yes, and practically everything could, ultimately, be placed in the fallacy category. dead end, brimming over with maniacal mischief, never seen anything so frighteningly serene. Michelle, you can't miss those dead giveaways. I mean, omens aren't meant to be overlooked, and they probably don't take it too well. What's the metronome to June, but a nuisance? Ritard., Michelle, adagissimo even--everything in June should be this way. Accelerando, August to October, does anyone know if it's the cadence or the interlude? The fermata--finale? Drip. drop. "The poem ends/soft as it began-" Someone somewhere remembers the beginning and appreciates the symmetry. Pathetic. fallacy. Applause. Bow.
encore?
encore?