cannonballs but in the abstract;
violins linger as though
walking through a
city of bohemian beggars.
of beethoven compete for your money
from opposite sides of the street.
the notes juxtapose to perform the most precise beauty
ever born of trifling rivalries
and you are haunted by an irreplecable song for the next three days.
a cannonball tears through
your car stereo in rush hour traffic,
it flies down the lane two more miles before
it comes to a stop.
somehow, everyone has been waiting for this to happen.
somewhere in the atlantic,
fourty tons and fifteen months of construction
become the blip on the radar screen
that is no longer blip-ing.
it reminds you of
being spanked to tears as a child upon misbehaving,
of being put in your place only yours lacked the finality.
seconds before an ocean wave
that is really a schizophrenic mountain
screams all kinds of nihilism at you
you realize that the stars
are very pronounced and numerous
in the middle of the ocean at night.
cannonballs fly but in the abstract,
there are violins and stars, though they drown too;
the ocean is large.
you too with ambiguity envy such a death.
pure, unrestrained and final.
the cars ahead of you are moving again.