Chromaticromantic

Love moves by half-steps,
enters the room where we
mark your blue-eyed notches,
and entails everything built
prior to the dot-gilled
guppy life that personifies
my dim little lovedom till now.

My dim little power turned low,
and all so to make me change.
At court you're all right.
Too regal for a Queen,
but more like a hard-edged
Kreen or Qing; more mermaid
than that already.

One half-step up
like the Berlin piano,
going timidly tiny or
brazen and clean.

I'm packed; I'm ready to go.
I'm ready to stand you in the light.
Yahweh down south,
and the great god Love at
the Poles.
In return for this
Universe.

Step up.

He thateth know of you,
doth slur, doth never die.
I pitch through to perfect,
my Kreen, oh my Krincess,
I pack to the coda, end
up at the head.

Leipzig

Now we are passing through snow
now we are countered by this that and the other,
and twists lie ahead and behind.
The well-intentioned farmer is direct,
he keeps telling us, and we keep pushing him away,
and in walks Bach.

Into a wall he walks, he's blind, like Handel.
Just as he begins his stirring remarks pulled from
his corrupt and well-loved lungs,
we stop him and ask, is this the right thing to do?
Might it not be better if you put aside your stinking cellos
and helped us get out of here?

He consults his stopwatch, and agrees

Now we are back on the strasse with the story
of the bossa nova ringing in his ears, and he's
the most delighted I have ever seen him, of course
with the women who bow blushed before him, a
traditionalist in the old clothes of whatever dying
regime can keep him in foolscap.

He's moved into his stately phase now, and even the
flakes are grand and gentle, in this time of his need
cooperation is not wanting or weird or wicked either
He threatens to put his girth on the frailest of the frail
and oddly remarks of a ride down the stairs.

And that's when I pull off his mask, and find the
fat Maurice, a huge black entrepreneur with no
musical ability at all, no over-weaning love of his
creator to spur him onto to fragrant compositions
of cream and lace, but simply a man with a map of
a look enclosed inside a hammer's mind.

Well, I say, take your anguish to the corner of the room,
and make a place for yourself among your predecessors
if you must, but remember, they're slipping mickeys to
the hard drinkers among us, and I include myself in that
posted toastarama.

Eerie Stomach Maurice, and like any oversized individual,
you clearly do not plan in any direction but out and over,
and when the four of us go over the top, into the rumbling
carbines of our angry opponents, let us remember that even
Johann hides within, at our darkest moments, there is still
the light-footed gentlemen and the beautiful ladies who stare.