Poor Viktor Hartmann!
All that remained of his towering soul
were visions pressed on to paper
hanging in a St. Petersburg gallery.

Mussorgsky advanced his lumbering frame
along the gallery halls
searching for his lost friend.

Sonic images formed in the composer’s mind
singing replicas of Hartmann’s icons:

        An old castle,
        Children quarreling,
        An ox resisting the yoke,
        The Great Gate of Kiev.

Mussorgsky’s notes sound and vanish
as ephemeral as life itself -
passing into the ether only to live anew
with each successive performance.

      Viktor lives!

October,  2006

Poor Viktor Hartmann!
All that remained of his towering soul
were visions pressed on to paper
hanging in a St. Petersburg gallery.

Mussorgsky advanced his lumbering frame
along the gallery halls
searching for his lost friend.

Sonic images formed in the composer’s mind
singing replicas of Hartmann’s icons:

        An old castle,
        Children quarreling,
        An ox resisting the weight of its cart,
        The Great Gate of Kiev.

Mussorgsky’s notes sound and vanish
as ephemeral as life itself -
passing into the ether only to live anew
with each successive performance.

      Viktor lives!

*October, 2006

coming at you sideways
out of the sun
or from beneath
you'll ******* guns
finger four we fly in
death from above
just a flash then I'm gone

you won;t hear me
you won't see me
you won't feel it
you're spinning down in flames

dots on horizon
another flock
sheep or men I can tell not
another red star
goes spinning down
happy is my hunting ground

you won't see me
you won't hear me
you won't feel it
you're spinning down in flames

I am the blonde knight
Hartmann's my name
I bring down at what I aim
alone at the top now
never be beat
ignoble cause
amazing feat

you won't see me
you won't hear me
you won't feel it
you're spinning down in flames