The music in physical abstraction
Is in the eye that tries but can’t see straight,
A synesthesia, thought and action
Blurring all that is too far and too late.
Cross your eyes and a leaf disappears
Into a something, yes, but a nothing
Too, which will quietly begin to sing
Incomprehensibly to your pinched ears.
The New York City streets seen from a cloud,
All movement among sliding monuments,
Are like sheet music notes without accents,
Cacophonous, unrelievedly loud.
The autumn leaves run after taxi cabs
The old painter creates with little dabs.
My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase at Amazon. Click here:
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