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Jeering the Opera


by Samuel Derrick Rosen


Consider the old firmament
How it welcomes new derision
Alas, we have never understood
A word that was not written
 
Countless Joan of Arcs
Flirt with those that fan the flames
The future has no taste
The nameless make their names
 
Grow warm the flesh of devils
Good merchants out of trade
In their debt we dream
All shall be remade
 
Composed, the land beneath
This ecstatic shield of stars
Most present in its deadness
Above gods in their bazaars
 
Through use of sand and stone
We shall at last be free
Nothing then can force us
To return to sea
 
Upon the ledge of pantomime
We mourn our great ambition
Alas, we have never understood
A word that was not written
 
In that never empty house
Of the uncompelled and weak
All must sport a rose
Tattooed upon the cheek
 
Its ghosts are black and white
Virtually enigmatic
They wake to gold and lilies
And dictators democratic
 
Take this native tongue
Now you know that it is mute
Give to nature's cavalier
His madness is astute
 
Nothing remains invisible
I kiss the face of your phenomena
Pretending to be miserable
We jeer the opera.
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