The staves and the staff
the words and the notes
and signs of quick runs,
of slurs and sly rhythms
syncopations jazzy
and slinky and languorous.

The paintings in stippled
sharp actiony thrusts
and swirly quick strokes
and brushed side to side,
side-side and side-side
and circular motion.

My words here, my song,
art in living sound
and loud color on
display for a world…

and yet it is not
anything alive,
not thriving and wild
because your eyes knowing
are never touching…no

and so they hang still
they hide in dull vinyl
in grooves and in ridges
and gather bored dust
in lonely tumultuous
shouting soft silence