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The Waves Begin The Night (The March Part One)

Dave Migman on November 28, 2012 19:05

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    In 2 Sets

    In 3 Groups

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    Not the first, not the last. A humble offering. Thus begins the march!


    There are lights to behold
    and light to be told
    the chorus of the wave
    the chanting of the children
    the crunch across the gravel
    a growling dog parts
    the shadow of a cat
    the shurling of the beach
    the child sings a rhyme
    the dog barks at the bushes
    the cat stares at the darkness
    the churling of the wave
    the bourgainvillea begins to swing
    the children scream with joy
    their mother smiles upon them
    wheels grind the gravel
    the engine pistons round
    the song is in the devil
    and the devil don't exist
    and the cat chases a leaf
    while the dog falls asleep
    the mosquito whines in my ear
    the child begins to cry
    the mother sings a scold
    the waves begin the night
    the bourgainvilleas gain presence in the dark
    the breeze teases out a tune
    from all scimitars and hearts
    and the sun is in its pocket
    hiding from the moon
    the Germans are all musing
    while the Greeks enjoy the family
    in the dark the children play
    laugh and dance and scream
    the waves sharoon the shore

    Just a change of view
    a different perspective
    to haunt this evening
    from an entirely different angle

    crimson spectres burst from the dark foliage
    the jungle of sound is suffused and aching
    somewhere in the spike of a wave
    is my loneliness
    my gratitude

    the incessant battery of insects
    the old captain's foghorn angst
    his wife like a curled up old vine leaf

    the night is a festival of movement unseen
    in the morning tracks impress the dust
    at the verges of the roads
    the sand on the beach

    the captain's head is full of dogs
    inside he is a fitful maze
    of bad memories and ouzo
    chastising his wife for his misgivings
    over and over

    meanwhile it's the night here
    sober, recomposed for introspection
    like how my timing's out
    unlike times before, when everything
    fit - boom bam boom!
    clockwork worked the coincidence
    the sequence like a game the gods


    is it that i haven't let go?
    haven't I truly let go?
    like the captain clutching at the
    wreckage of his wife
    just how do we drive it through the night?
    when our hearts are in boxes
    our minds surfing the cicada choir
    burning, with the beauty and the horror
    until we feel


    The beaches were strewn with Archean teeth
    the opaque globes
    of the hundred-eyed
    gathered like apostles at the feast
    of waves; honour the mirror
    beware of its depths


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