The Contrapuntist

Delicate sensorial circles
Surround the human interface-
the place where we met. Outside.

‘In nature,’ you said,
‘The pressure points are years of your life
that exude into rivers creating circular angst’.

We ‘little professors’ and ‘little philosophers’ inevitably
guard the gateway to this rivulet over the hill.
But we are wrongly stationed there by you, the image,
who believes we will meander through life,
made of intraversable genius mould, with ordinary failings.
Or lacking ‘common sense’ and real feelings.

This image of isolation is drenched by firewire souls
made of acid jazz.
Be-bopping beats and falling cadences merge electronically
into a slippery stream of wavelengths that we can manoeuvre.

Our ‘special interest’ reverberates,
after postulations
and angry associations,
in free verse.

Lyrics are re-written in minds.
Inherited genetic codes, passwords, are unlocked
by those words
as the phrasing of a mode, ascends then descends.

Like an original musician who learns the laws of music
(s)he learns the social code-
to understand and develop sequences
flowered with colour.

Original Scan Here