Salim Gold
After Opera
pera is the speech of children, their screech
Of spit-soaked truths: Hear Love squeal, hear Hate squawk,
As babes dissertate and elders dissent—
Save those in tune with rain and leaves and their
Own hearts and sweat and breath, let’s say, like us.
Leaving Tosca, we face Venetian rain,
A broth of disgust, but new leaves, blossoms,
Perfume, helter skelter, the breeze, a vers
Libre draft. “Beauty and decay,” you say….
The canals reek of dead fish and fresh cunt.
But rain is how the sea summers in grass,
And fish can taste as earthy as bread mold.
Duet until chimes murmur their deathless
Latin, chaque matin, and leaves crisp and fall.
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