N0.22 Opus 54 Piano Sonata No. 22 in F (1804)
l walk with you. Yes. & I hold your hand. & Yes. Feel your body vibrate & hum & mine as well. Yes. These walks. Our. Reassuring. Interludes. Take-in the clear spring air. Monarchs & Swallowtails – On the wing. & Crocus & Jonquil & Lilac & Yes. Kites & mini-drones & squirrels & A few audacious rabbits & deer with their fawn & Beggars too. Yes. Homeless & Hungry. Use to walking. Yes. Spring & Winter & Summer & Yes. They’re Here & There. Around lakes & in underpasses & under benches & inside crates & handmade cardboard cocoons. They walk & sleep & count time with chalk on walls & floors & anywhere they’ve sat, or stood or laid down. Yes. Spring. Yes. Respite from winter. Our harsh accounting. Rebirth. For all that breathe & run-their-days-down. Each in the hunt for any kind of calm & quiet & safety & peace. Lines at the missions are longer & as we pass we tremble in the face of our inadequacy. In the face of our Curse & Dilemma: Abject Poverty. Allowed. To. Exist. In the Midst. Of. Excessive Prosperity. How meager our role. How painful our guilt & Yes. Spring has sprung. Nature. Aglow in its pleasures. Listen. On the breeze. Caressing new buds. A challenge: ”Awake” “Awake” “Awake” The call reverberates & Again urges: No more bullshit. No more excuses. Pony-up. It is truly. Our Time Now – Harness & Deliver -The Resolute & Redemptive Response. Do it Or. Be. Forever – Or ... Is it so hard? So distasteful? Wondering. Aloud. Sounds like. Recriminations run a muck. As always – Or so it seems. One man down. Another on fire. Cities & towns. The Constitution of a Country: Mutilated. Muddied. Masticated. At best. Four hundred years. Hate & Despair (The Twins) Planted. Nurtured & Transplanted, Over & Over & Over. Culture to Culture. &. Where there arc flames. There are sources. Where hate & division flourish. There arc sources. Open the paper. Breathe. Last night’s smoke. Can’t hear? Tum off the sirens, The ringing–rounds. of. Automatic Fire. The shrieks of the Desperate & the Assaulted. Ludwig Van would be Disturbed. Troubled. Irate. This Sonata would not be without pain – As it is. A sublime tribute to his musical mischief. A Portrait or Celebration. Enfolding. Around Us. Here’s, Cake. To be cut. & Brandy. To be poured . Step Right Up. For the sake of fiesta. Slake your thirst my sisters, my brothers. With hope & promise fulfilled. Tomorrow will he kinder & gentler. Yes. A choral cheer. & Here. Come. The revelers. A bit. Disheveled. Always. Ready. For. More. So. Pass your glass & Share a toke. There’s plenty more to come. Hurrah & Hurrah & Once again Hurrah. . . & So It Goes. .