TO THE CONTINENT

			1803



When I was a child, I was content
to fit the notes to the joy I felt;
chords unfurled shimmering ribbons
I twirled myself in, as if into a chrysalis.                          		  

Then I wanted love, whole sheets of it
to wrap myself warm for sleeping.
Less spontaneous, I performed vigorously;
the world was not as large as the sound

I sent to it.  More admiration, fetes. 
Women began sampling, nibbles & slurps;
I played to keep the noise going, 
to fill me up.  But now I want only 

to find love that resists, notes that will not fit;
I want to be appalled & staggered 
in equal measures, I want blood 
& blood’s aftermath –– 

weariness & affliction, sans mercy.