Tagged: bartok

you are practicing

you are practicing
Bartók when the elephant
suddenly escapes,

staggering out of the grand
piano, during the eighth bar

there are a few settings

there are a few settings
they don’t tell you about
when you close your eyes –
whether you prefer
first- or third- person
for example, the ability
to control the scene, rewind
to an earlier version of the
dream, et cetera. if you
are not particular, the last
five minutes will be
accompanied by a
default Bartók track
and, nine times out of
ten, your body will feel
like it’s being chased
right into the light



in dimly lit spaces, the piano
is a train whistling unevenly
across a sloping stage blowing

up, up, and up the crinkling
wings of beethoven
and bartók – the only two
choices left
within these numb
fingers when drowning
in an endless pit of freshly
polished apples. in dimly
lit spaces, the piano is a train
whistling is a wound bleeding
is a cast iron radiator tiptoeing
nearest the asylum of
a north-facing brick wall

with her rusty skirt grazing
at minor third intervals
across all that city snow

the closer to the deceased
the more death becomes
an inconvenience – that is,
which train am i taking?
does my suit still fit? when
is the funeral? where
are my black dress shoes? who
hasn’t been notified?

the more death becomes
an inconvenience, the less we have
to open our eyes widely
towards the emptiness that is still
a faint lingering of our
beloved who can no longer
share in these softest of
laments – who, what, when
and where – but lie
down with us each time
we press our heads against why
and catch our tongues
perpetually blistering on how