Feste's Lute

Scribbles & Sketches of the Unspeakable

Gilt in Black Iron and Steel

‘Tween teeth like old ivory
the guard twitters taps,
his steps never escalate
as he hits his rounds.

The confident duplicity
winds through each branch,
in tax-laden labyrinths
it sorts our returns.

Altered Aria

The spinto was shocked.
She went straight for the pit.
Scored scars
on conductors
turned white as their sheets,
clipped notes
fell replete with
chaotic tonation.
Her projection gone dark,
an Ondes
fumbled keyrings
and begged her to stop.

Appraisal

He’s not what
we suspect.
Those lips place
their bets on
the first purse
she plays
and thick notes
purvey all
her unmet attentions.