the human instinct to create, not bound by
defining attitude
sound more a whim, maybe need,
what would follow each night––
The instrument like a snake came alive,
tentative at first, unloved,
then wrapping its fevered fangs
into my soul, some kind of
hypnosis
Okay now following the trail of noise,
crumbs, instinct formed, destroyed.*
Written on discovering that my snake-centric 4Hflute has an antecedent in Patti Smith's three H's: hand, heart, and head. The fourth H is han m' eggs. I'm heartened to learn that this poet I avoided for many years (based on rep alone) did not do the drugs she seems to proselytize for on the first Lou Reed-penned track. "The only thing I am really nostalgic for is childhood. I would want to be 10 years old in the forest with my dog again. It was a pure time.”
* Or deconstructed? ––that very '70s word.