On a Day When Rocks Can Think

When the clouds invented music,    
They warned us     
It was going to be this way,    
But we refused to    
Listen. That boulder     
Over there, for example, wept    
When it heard     
Its first harpsichord    
On a winter night. Also,  ——>  




There was that evening    
In a small Virginia town,    
Populated with banjos    
And the beat-up violins everyone    
Referred to as fiddles.    
It was rustic, and     
Momentous, I suppose,    
When that very same rock    
Wept again, as Elvis  ——>  




Sang something laced with    
That treacherous teenage     
Cologne. The rock continued     
Having emotional upheavals,     
Wondering why    
It was the only thing    
On the planet that cared,    
Truly cared, about any of this:    
The devastation of all  ——>  




The good notes; the pattern    
Of destruction everywhere.    
There was nothing left    
Worth listening to, after    
All these years, and the rock    
Had heard it all. The clouds    
That had thrown down    
That first note for the world    
To dance to, smiled,  ——>  




As this simple stone, this    
Unfeeling piece of hard ground,    
Lay there weeping    
That no one, in their right mind    
Or otherwise, appreciated    
Tailor-made suits, or    
Close shaves, or the idea    
Of pain placed next to    
The blackness of an old piano.    



    ——>Sam Pereira  



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