Phonemes diminished
under the evading half-speech
of abbreviated concerns
by engravings of codes,
masks, brackets, outlines
of muted language
on skiffs, stones, rocks
those washing away waves
assailed by layers
of what poses as dark wood
evocations of nature
sounding locutions
recument on time
yet echoes not forgotten
in a synthesis of evasion
all those inscriptions
on clay tablets
the epigraphy
in auspicious zones
assailed by
briefly tapered off
inquisitions
about to be resumed,
those trials of the unholy
recounting gnostic writings
from untranslated logs,
centuries of
sentences
under courtroom windows
death marches in the snow
with
pious requiems
the masses will not miss,
mimento mori
yet here (under bare walls
of sound proof studios
we discover)
the self effacing
unopened musical scores
unfinished symphonies
from underground worlds
discomposing chords
as quarter notes
are left
in attics and cold abbatoirs
in misplaced offices
by golden and silver
spheres of indifference
when society snobs
with blue parasols
make the rounds
of their flower gardens
waiting for
Schubert's recital
with glorious leider voices
until the gravediggers
unearth his pauper's lot
of civilization's scales.
except what lasts
blinding the universe
in a simulacrum
joined at the compact
skin and flesh
out of neccessity
at the harbinger of time: post-
mortem (dreamed down)
DuChamp's
Nude Descending a Staircase
twilight's vernal tongue
when snow from clouds
of alembic speech
encircles into the Ides
From each informed
inference of budding sex
as the latitude
of implanted yews
accompanies the beds
of spring
two arms embossed
in French translation
branching in absentia/
along an ashen twilight
of dusty consumation
forgetfulness
making a path
and other wise mirages
of likeness (for silence)
to infinite memory
And you
francis picabia
whirled in paint
on your fingertips
of a discolored universe
when the brush sweeps
away a century
of reaction
when pigment changes
and mingles
the dim reflections
recalling yellow
from ivory & blackness
on a canvas
from slim hands
from a fiery red eye
singed with scaling
bulbs of light
which dabs of sky milk
spreading a nuance
of shadow
on dispersed pensive
circling
rectangles
and uprooted shadows
of tunic height (from
devoured images)
in furtive estranged
parlance
casting strokes
shivering fragments
of cool pulse
toward intermittent
dialogue
from water holes
of blank spaces
in your sound proof
studio next to mine
B.Z. Niditch is a poet, playwright, fiction writer and teacher. His work is widely published in journals and magazines throughout the world, including Columbia: A Magazine of Poetry and Art, The Literary Review, Denver Quarterly, Hawaii Review, Le Guepard (France), Kadmos (France), Prism International, Jejune (Czech Republic), Leopold Bloom (Budapest), Antioch Review, and Prairie Schooner, among others. He lives in Brookline, Massachusetts.
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