Diary of a tormented philharmonic

they pounded their bare feet
against the cobblestone
in unison

the bells individually tied
to their clothes
jangled in rhythm

as the song beat
along the walk
the voice of the troupe
rose
from the ruin of
their lives

vestiges served as
instruments for
their fractured melody

her voice raspy with
pain
it swallowed bitter
cold air
and erupted into
a warm wave
of dynamic symphony

hair chopped to the roots
skin browned to filth
she resembled
boyish prepubescence
and flung around
as if possessed by
the specter of
music
which careened
through the square
or heroin that
pumped violently
through her arteries

his voice battered by
the experience of
tragedy
somehow found
a tone of
tattered joy
as he gazed
into her

beard unkempt
left to grow
in against the elements
the hair of his head
unsevered in ode
to Sampson's strength
eyes crystalline
salvation
for passersby

their love
reverberating
the anguish of strife
yet undaunted
in the pursuit of
harmonic ecstasy

bodies dipped and swayed
sunken chests
heaved beneath rags
emaciated faces
quite obviously famished
yearned for a
morsel

diary of a tormented
philharmonic
is not written
but
performed

I drop
the coins in my pocket
into her
overturned chapeau

as I continue past
over my shoulder
I see
her pick up the hat
senselessly
fling the coins
high into the air
as the voice of
the troupe
crescendoed
into a cacophony
of unintelligible
rapture

one by one
the coins fell to
the ground in
rhythm with
the bells

their bare feet
pounding the cobblestone

I could feel
through my shoes




for Alex and Jade