A VARIED FUGUE OF
SELF-REFERENCE
Instead of constancy, I have
entered a land of uncertainty. I
don't know how it happened,
but it did. There's a new gauze
over my eyes. The world is a
foggier place than ever.
-
How is it now that they dump
their forceful schemes on the
lands of everyone else; myself
included, and frightfully so?
-
One time, in Brooklyn, alone
Myrtle Ave., I remember a
house in one of those rows -
it had a lantern out front and
a grassy garden and a fence.
At the sidewalk, there was
the box - for packages and
mail, I guess, and a little holder
that protected business cards.
For the piano teacher guy who
lived inside the house.
-
He gave lessons, and the card
listed phone and rates and various
times. Musically put, it was a
varied fugue of self-reference.
And that world is gone.
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