evolution

oh, the ode to joy swelled in him.
it rose up his back, and filled his cranium.
a rising flooding wind,
(thank you dostoevsky.)
it made his hairs stand on end.
he played it to, within, himself,
over and over and over again.

achieving an expanse of imagination
equal to Berlin itself.

The greatest concert hall
and conductor,
verging on intimidation,
'should we try it?'
The meek do best.
Though, to Von Karajan's credit,
we might have some gratitude.

one two three four five
six seven
eight nine ten and one and four,
one two three four five six seven
eight nine ten and ten and more.

Four and five and six and seven
eight, nine, ten and nine and four.
one two three four five six seven
eight nine ten and one and more.

In and out, he knew it.
It kept him company.
He knew it as a statement of
something very important.

And yet, there is not a single record,
of the maestro humming this folk song
to himself.
He must have let it sit
under our noses,
as if indicated by the small hairs
on the back of his hands
or however else he could have gestured
to his fellow human,
not to care if less was thought of him.
Smiling, even at that.

One two three four five six seven
eight nine ten and ten and more.
Four and five and four and three and four and five and two and four.
One two three four five and six and four and
Four and five
and one.

Six, five and four!
Seven, six and five!
twelve eleven six and seven
six, eleven, seven, four and three and four and three.

ten and eight and ten and eight
six four or five six four or five
seven seven eight and eight
and ten and nine and ten and nine.

Freude, schoener Gotterfunken,
Tochter aus Elysium.
Language,
deaf to him,
a part of his childhood.

one two three four five six seven
eight nine ten and ten and more.