Huge expressive violins
in symphonies of meat and work
and struggle
on the farm
or in the factory
made for the record player
to spin in sin
against tobacco smoke
perfuming night
while wrinkled newspapers
lie therein
in terrible centuries
born of expansive hope
and limitless neurosis
doubt has fueled.
Skyscrapers line the way
...spread thin
toward the suburbs
and their shopping malls
on walkways littered with plastic
aluminum or tin
...huge and dense banalities
...such symbols for the radio or TV
monstrously romantic
cheap and sentimental
and yet
the serious symphony still stands
as a poignant reminder
of our hollow grief
sent skyward
like a funnelling leaf...
http://www.emptymirrorbooks.com/features/poems/four-poems-by-sam-silva.html
