To exit, there is no sum
As Beethoven’s ossicles—
A caged pendulum
It’s not the notes— it’s the space—
Where barnacles thrive, thrashing—
All the more in lack of a tide
It’s not the tune— it’s the harmony—
Concert static where trebles headcase—
One desolate pine to sync with the base
It’s not the angle— it’s the symmetry—
Where single steps wax, another ellipse—
Piled high, as nibbled nail strips
White noise swallows symphonies
Eroding convex and concave, impregnate—
Lofty sound waves
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