Musicians
Under the aegis of darkness,
they trespassed narrow-edged ways —
wayward musicians;
spectre-framed and so pronto the
afflatus of restless painters and
hungry poets.
Mute and stout,
they seemed agnostics,
reclining on image-powers; thoughts
and dumb instruments facing earth;
such clout among them,
and countenance —dim —
turning them into a cluster of
strumpet-begotten specimens.
Moments of silence.
In their string-fashioned phalanx,
Untaperable fraternity.
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