The Sachsenhausen Violinist
We could smell blood everywhere.
Sitting crouched against white,
Lifeless marble,
Our violins to our chins
As crusted black blood
Stuck, pleadingly,
To our music sheets.
We were to summon beauty in hell;
To compel the murderous to tears
And the dying back to life, but,
I could smell blood everywhere.
My heart gave out in a
Lurching throb.
My bow swam against the hair
And I, in mind, among the countless wasted.
This could happen anywhere.
And this happens everywhere.
Beauty in hell.
The fount of flowers in the black.
The smoldering sickness
Against sweet-lacquered intentions.
Blood is everywhere.
As we hunt blindly, stupidly,
For the grace of gauze.
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