-entartete-

1.

It once pierced a fractured continent with its own blood,——

And as it struggled within the borders of its habitat’s assault, 

Music moved somewhere in the distance embracing its performance 

From what was ridiculed then silenced within the exhibition’s noxious 

Sound-booths of Dusseldorf.

What, beyond sheer madness drove

A nation’s passion to snuff the formula 

Expanding the atmosphere of sound at its ears

Below its boots?

But Krasa spoke-up,

And Wolpe, too—

And Haas, who perished with his penmanship in hand

With a chorus of Krasa’s children at his side.

2.

Silence keeps its company, 

Blindly sharing itself with anything in front of it.

Dropping its narrow eyes, it rubs its neck by the lick of its arms

As it sticks to the stillness.

And in the stillness, silence bites——

And you’ve got to swat it——

A process not required if you’re saying 

Something.