.
If I were Sophocles, brave with truth
I would play my old fiddle a sharp tune or two
And then withdraw into the uniqueness of rock
Which your special penmanship changes into lock
For your l’s are special, as in Elgin Penitentiary
Where you have never been, my expressive farmer
Preferring liberty to freedom or a penitentiary
The baroque swoop in your l’s is for enhancing liking
I like you because I am mad at you
Often you are mad at me too
All very spectacular
But it’s awful when the other person isn’t breathing
Friendship tempts you to essay the r in rock while breathing
Your friend Rock likes you
Jean
Frank
Paul
Matthew
Joy
Austin
And people
Like that
Like you
Goya is a tremendous painter
Goya is dead
But the poetry of penmanship is never dead
While you are writing
We survive for a while, and then we die
And this is but the beginning
Your d pirouettes then later you die
But there is no reason for you to care about any of that
For you have become the virtuoso of capital F
Even if tomorrow we die
I am still free to go on choosing whomever I like
I go on choosing you
And you go on choosing me
Over and over again
Irrespective of merit
Spencerian script: D.L. Musselman, 1884
2 comments:
I enjoyed that quite a lot, and thank you for it.
Peter,
Please imagine that my gratitude for your kind comment is arriving at your door at this moment, in a carefully-calligraphed note, folded in a proper little envelope, as in days of yore.
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