Sounds diminish, but still, I listen;
struggle to discern the notes
of this musical composition.
Such isolation of senses encourages one to remember
All the tests have been completed.
The philosophers, for such they would be,
sit with their heads in their hands like marble statues;
like flashlights with their batteries depleted
Complexity does that every time.
Some relish the fact there will be a struggle.
Others practically dissolve
into an inertial ineptitude.
Earlier on the sky percolated,
extravasating stars; formulating galaxies with a gusto;
It was an era of impassioned expansion.
There were theories galore, enviable delight.
At that time, shelves of great books
were at my disposal. I was washed
in oceans of reflection; and what I saw still rouses,
still leaves me as restless as a jackal that’s been caged.
So just try. Ignore those defalcations of tone,
the ambient isolating perplexity of it all.
There is that which the canine ear can hear,
of which humans may never be aware.
Let us understand that to expect justice
is laughable. The judges,
if they exist at all, have been corrupted,
your arguments to them are like blank faces on a screen.
What does the primitive artist think,
who, having carved his Venus out of stone,
meets a cave bear in the darkness?
Who is there, at that moment, to propitiate?
The degeneracy of genes
is irrefutable. A universe
that enlarges provides more space
in which to shiver.
It has been conjectured that man’s mutated replacement
is already living in a gorgeous Park Avenue apartment,
and the beauteous soprano, high tones gone,
is developing wrinkles.
Despite seismological studies, earthquakes continue
to bedevil, and the motion of the tectonic plates
shows no evidence of abatement. Perhaps an appreciation
of basso sonority would be appropriate before that fades also.