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.
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