The Satin Tuning Fork (Yves Tanguy), Sonnet #499

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My Human Disguise.

I cannot tune a guitar very well

Because I pluck a string and hear three tones,

Not one. My inner ears have extra bones.

My head is a struck and struck again bell,

A tuning fork made of satin and silk,

Vibrating musically like stirred milk.

A real tuning fork makes the air explode

And ring with a slowly diminishing 

Volume without ever quite finishing,

An eternal sonic episode.

I tap mine and tighten a tuning post.

At least that note is right. The other strings

Wobble off pitch the way a warbler sings

Or like the humming of a tone-dead ghost.