In a moment of brilliance,
I compared the gods of
Lombardo's Homer's Iliad
to television addicts
eager to interact
with the dying actors
on that reality stage,
only to find that I was
fifteen years behind
the curve of genius of
Anne Carson's well-strung bow.
Today, a friend asked me
about contemporary painters
to illustrate his theory
of music for the academy's sake.
This is not a fugue,
but time always
seems to contradict
my best ideas.
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