The Great Commotion Opera & Entreaters Society
begged me to sit and play. So I sat, and I played
to the saga of a plastic collapsible circus, playing
to eyes in front and those behind, playing
to the dim din in this hall of a skull.
But all I could get was
some funny tinny washboard rhythm:
rickety tickety tick— with first a Gutenberg bell,
then a micro bleep
at the end of every song.