I get in from seeing you
check my messages then turn on the radio
Mozart signs his name with a violin’s tune
the thaumaturgy of music
violin bows become magic wands
inspiration three centuries dead serenades the embers to this dying year.
You sounded like you didn’t want to sound nervous
on my answering machine.
If ol’ Wolfgang can’t hide himself while he’s buried beneath three centuries worth of earth
and time
ages before we could catch sound like flies
on strips of tape we turn into music
the power to manipulate atmosphere
(imagine the shower scene in Psycho to the theme to Loony Tunes.)
Music tames the savage beast and tonight I am that savage beast
and still Mozart will always be A Little Night Music
there he is
exposed by an entire orchestra.
So, what hope do you think you have
cloaking your tone with me, the one whose mouth shared your own
less than one meal ago.
I could taste how tasteless was your kiss
I know Mozart’s portrait when I see him
just like
I know second thoughts
when I hear them
exposed like an open fly
on my answering machine.
cottonbombs 
Peter, this poem manages to be brutally honest and yet somehow forgiving, eventually, someday, maybe? I REALLY liked the two lines where ” I know Mozart’s portrait when I see him just like I know second thoughts when I hear them.” That is such a contrast in proprieties with the “exposed like an open fly on my answering machine.” See, THAT is why I turn my phones off when I am writing, researching, etc. With my phone service, people think they have the wrong number and do not leave messages. As they know only too well, if they are trying to reach me for a REAL emergency, they can send over one of my law enforcement-type neighbors! Hey, now THERE’s an idea for a ditty, hugh?
Rose!
Thank you for the insight! And exactly, there are more direct routes to quell emergencies than 911. Ever tried smoke signals?
Peter I love this so much. It really spoke to me, as a lover of music, as a lover of Mozart, but especially as a lover of words and your skilfull weaving of them. You make touching, thought-provoking music of your own.
Thank you, Louise. All art is subjective and one person`s masterpiece is another person`s piece of masturbation. But, (please forgive me starting a sentence with a conjunction) if you do not like Mozart, you simply do not hear beauty.