Truer than True
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Those things inside our throats are waiting for
Their meaning. Music sung begins as notes
Which once inside the mouth might want to soar
As words, as lyrics, as the heart devotes
Itself to adoration. Concepts rise
Past tongue, past teeth, past lips but still with spit
Involved though ever upward toward the skies
Of tenors and sopranos. Once notes hit
Their targets, then we know their meaning. Tombs
Are hidden in the voice box till the breath
Expels their mystery. The throat holds rooms
That operas dream of, weddings breathed with death.
Two girls of snow are what the singer aims
For, maybe moons more white, a sound that maims.
