Gritty frost from
the radio speaker
in the car's
nomadic shadows:
a swamp of sounds
in which hearing's
needle can
barely move.
Out of nowhere,
a torch singer
slices through Wittgenstein
with the cutlery
of cante jondo...
How does she do it? -
unstitch, unseam
language itself,
make the world flow and
if that wasn't enough
hit the twin peaks
of grace and tragedy?
The car
anointed with music
slips into the night.


1 Ignacio

I really like this poem.Amazing . Continue

3 Juliet Parker

Very good, reminds me of a free-verse poem.  Continue to write!

4 Hayley Menzies

I Liked It How U Explained It And How U Used Some Spanish This Will Help With My Topic!!!!

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