Thursday, September 30, 2010

Musee Mecanique

Under oak veneer and
Bevelled glass,
She is sad sometimes.
Complex, an orchestrion
Rattled, buzzing inside:
Something in dark where
Whippens work; something
Stirring in dark over
Maple pinblock and bridge,
Ridges and racks of
Brass and ash --spruce
Shim slipped from
A soundboard crack,
Lost levers veiled in
Danger and promise.
What dark entails:
Searching after a
Spring fails. I press.
A little felted hammer
Strikes no reply.
Sometimes she is sad
And can't remember why.


  1. As I wrote in my somewhat garbled note to you last night, I like the ghosts that arise for me, too, when I walk through the streets of the City by the Bay. "Musee Mecanique" gives me those goosebumps! Thanks!

  2. Didn't seem garbled. Of course, I don't ungarble til nearly noon so I'll take your word for it. Poem started Tuesday after lunch at a place on Powell and Beach Blanket Babylon Blvd., when we passed the Washington Square statue and thought of Brautigan. Musee Mecanique is on Pier 45 and, if you head thru the warehouses toward Hyde, you have to think of Kerouac. Benevolent ghosts. Inescaple poetry.


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