Orchestra

Sweeping opera of the divine
ballet of would-be sighs but
unsung is the aria beyond
the customary compromise.

My thoughts like the pigeons
flock and bank on a page
as hawkish as spores
as unthought of as cages.

God tells us repeatedly
to hide from his footsteps
recursively we mimic
the trembling of insects.

I flow not in cables
or classrooms or temples
as prodigious as apples
I fall outside all formulae.

A trip begins in impulse
a quest in convulsion
I am catapulted by insult
over celestial walls.

My love brought me a dove
cooked it in a casserole
I saw myself in it and
could not eat it all.

This poem began vigorously
in the temper of the tiger
descended into the giggling
of the outranked fighter.

My orchestra marches
in flights of fancy
through tortured arrangements
of backward branchings.

Effort to choose whether to
thank freedom or pressure
for the state of my memory
has conjured up a symphony

The overture is lively
each movement is contrary
the means and ends strive
to swarm like starlings.

End of the day’s pursuit
is only a lull in the hunt
tomorrow we will follow
anyone in front.

Sweeping opera of the divine
ballet of would-be sighs but
unsung is the aria beyond
the customary compromise.

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
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