Poetry

Alan Gould: Three Poems

  Making Lines While Listening to Music   I was your long-haul poet, I composed by matching how my hemispheres disclosed their grainy footage with their clefs of sound which then I’d fret till happy with their round.   Then came this music, lackadaisical, and I learned how promiscuous was morale. Paraap parp-parp, and so on with a tweedle, here was the flirt where solo horn could sidle   from nearby strings to promptly thrill my joy that beggared none, nor wow’d a hoi polloi. Here was such instantaneous effect upon my snagged, unhappy intellect,   seamed with heartbreak, yet…

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