deepundergroundpoetry.com

Rhapsody in Harlem

Beyond a dim proscenium,  
The faces resemble moonlight
Over Chinese landscapes—  
 
And the vacant prose  
Of western dime novels.  
 
Shall they divine messages,  
Written by sea-breeze, among  
Languors of wild grass?  
 
With squinted eyes,  
Inherited from grandparents'  
Old photo-albums,  
 
They cannot understand  
An apple's sanguine complexion,  
Succumbed to autumn—  
 
Or the beautiful iridescence  
Within crow feathers.  
 
But, hush—as the pianist  
Finishes his solo, and dances  
Around the ensemble.
Written by Sartoris
Published | Edited 20th Apr 2019
Author's Note
An attempt in word-painting, partly inspired by Wallace Stevens.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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