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Elan Mudrow

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The heated horizon

Produces an allure.

My eyes follow

its linear line, moving with

the melodic narrative–

There are other voices—here

Where hills make outlines.

Harmony is horizontal–

A dialogic freeway.

It is the rain

That stops streets

And plays with the oil

Leftover from sentences

Blocks and paragraphs

Stories—cities, maps, the membranes

Of the lay out to thought

 

The horizon burns, it must.

To maintain its fix.

Pierces a way inside

Leaving me to forget

How notes are placed

on top of one another–

They are not static, all is noise

Counterpoint and polyrhythms

Bouncing off other events–

Experience, a lose few chapters

Their print flying off, landing

On edges, never settled

Remaining, vibrating

Rubbing itself in tension

Spewing multiplicity

 

The horizon ignites

A promise of finality

Of oneness with meaning

A road that flirts with following

Doesn’t know where it leads.

Only a traveller has a…

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