We are ready for contemporary composers to put our minds on one sound fading and one growing.
Through the woods, their musical consistency runs as a brook, not so dense as to be unwelcoming.
In fact, it’s tempting.
It is just one damn thing after another, and aren’t we the lucky ones?
Yes, we certainly are.
And our suffering is too slight to draw from or to mention, but we do.
We’re falling down stone walls.
Visions of deco metallic, curvy moonward moods, and gentle considerations of what was spoiled by the mother now end.
We can climb over or under any barbed wire and swim in any pond.
Somewhere rural we live our lives radically condensed.