Seasonal hymns carry you aloft
the small print assuring you that the exaltation
in the fuzziness of the rearview mirror
is evidence of your coming-of-age . . .
Reams of prayer repurpose happiness
on the street where you live
and alter the topography of your brain . . .
You day-trip backstory practice
mimicking the chamber group in Pictures at an Exhibition . . .
the momentum enough to spearhead you into the beyond . . .
Isn't it magical? . . . intimacy's joggle? . . .
The candles flickering their excitement . . .
puzzling amusement . . . dynamic
in their medievalism . . . in their ability
to quell supermarket stalkers
comparing notes on extended techniques
with odysseyites dabbling in noise . . .
The snow is indeed over the top
but, look, the wonderment of this winter wonderland
is a dotted line to the divine
prompting players to sort through their collections
of unfinished symphonies
sorted on imaginary number . . .
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| Antonio Palmerini |