Minor keys descending
herald of our doom
Soundtrack for the march of time
Serpents in quicksilver and smell of voodoo
spill from monastery gates
You’ve made me what I am
and I curse you for it
No purpose for a final chapter
to a tale already ended
in every way that matters
No thread of subtext to pull
that will revive this garment
All raiments have been cast to dust
Suffer brandy’s somnolence in darkened chambers
Sergei’s stark keys sound empty
in hallways and upper floors
Notes to goad the complacent from smug defeat
Undercurrents of accusatory clauses
floating room to room
They seek compliant victims
Only deaf mutes escape
with their protest unspoken
and spared the humility of feeble utterance
drowned in the fury
Celtic crosses cast pale shadow
from dun light through mists
This wilderness of grey stone crags
or matted thatch in brown
To the cold brook where earth trembles
Find a mountain for your seat
Where bitter dregs may find your palate
pure water still will sate your thirst
from springs primeval
Where Arthurian echoes sound
At rail’s end the sea begins
and dreams of shame sleep silent
that we may forget
I am he, Atlas
I have shed all my burdens 
Do you miss me now
Long before Turner Classic Movies I developed a fondness for the old “black and whites”. That is how I and my contemporaries used to refer to films from the Golden Age of Hollywood. Just as it is today the studios turned out a lot of real dog features, with only a handful having any hope of enduring. One film from the period that has always been a favorite of mine is the 1946 feature The Strange Love of Martha Ivers.
I stumbled across this film today and began to watch it for the first time in perhaps as long as twenty years. If you have not seen the film I encourage you to check it out. I won’t give away anything here. For those of you who have seen and remember the film I have something to share.
In the story the young Walter (whose adult character was played by a very youthful Kirk Douglas) bears witness to a tragedy. It was one of those transformative events that may occur in any person’s life; a real turning point, if you will. At that point the young Walter makes a decision that will haunt the rest of his life. He decides that his play is to stay. He calculates that if he stays he will ultimately be rewarded. Now I truly understand the lesson contained in this story. There is no reward for staying. Those of you who know this film will understand what I mean.
All is quiet this New Years Day
when Merrymakers have gone away
This solitary silence
to nurse those wounds
inflicted in the annum past
A momentary ambivalence
exuberance that can not last
As digits on calendars change their place
A blank expression left upon your face
nothing’s really changed
but the numbers
A segmentation for memories to tell
A day prescribed for poisons to expel
Wake me when it’s Monday
Oh please, not before
A New Year’s resolution
not to do this any more
Lo-fi, Lo-res, analog primitive
stark and minor keyed
when recorded in mono
like a clay pot fired
on the last day of Pompeii
A final human gasp
of artistic expression
before ruin and enslavement
In vinyl, preserved ever fragile
