harbison poem
my poem to john harbison:
o harbison, how i used to loathe thee
when we would play Remembering Gatsby
Dark Bloom made my cry
and all the horn players wanted to die
you had never seen a marimba before
and all the oboes called you a whore
the trombones were loud
and the trumpets proud
and yet still you were abhorred.
In Three City Blocks there arose such a clatter
And I sprang from bed to see what was the matter
(wait, what? oops wrong poem)
Throughout our time together, we learned to like you,
Did I say LIKE?, i meant appreciate, foo'
The really long concert went off without a hitch
But common already, stop talking you bitch
Sirens were ringing
Jen Bellor was singing
And no one could tell if we were off pitch
All in all it went pretty well.
Although I still say, Dark Bloom: burn in Hell.
Thank you
-wong-
o harbison, how i used to loathe thee
when we would play Remembering Gatsby
Dark Bloom made my cry
and all the horn players wanted to die
you had never seen a marimba before
and all the oboes called you a whore
the trombones were loud
and the trumpets proud
and yet still you were abhorred.
In Three City Blocks there arose such a clatter
And I sprang from bed to see what was the matter
(wait, what? oops wrong poem)
Throughout our time together, we learned to like you,
Did I say LIKE?, i meant appreciate, foo'
The really long concert went off without a hitch
But common already, stop talking you bitch
Sirens were ringing
Jen Bellor was singing
And no one could tell if we were off pitch
All in all it went pretty well.
Although I still say, Dark Bloom: burn in Hell.
Thank you
-wong-