Elevations and escalations that do not break down
In the face of the fire of their own creations,
The classical and the punk, the folk and the pop,
All come from boxes with strings, the curves
Mix with the edges and hang notes up to dry,
Unexplored sorrows come out or virgin joys
Are embraced, and voices warm up either way,
Bodies move to these containers, empty otherwise,
Yet they are full when hands stroll over them,
Over the wood and the plastic, fingers make magic
And leave the simple tasks of survival for a dance.
Put cables, threads, and rubber bands over my coffin,
Whatever it takes to keep me alive in your dreams,
Wearing the mask of Orpheus, night after night.
Ben Nardolilli currently lives in Arlington, Virginia. His work has appeared in
Thieves Jargon, Farmhouse Magazine, Elimae, and SoMa Literary Review among many other publications. In addition, he was the poetry editor for West 10th Magazine at NYU . His blog can be found at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.