Glossolalia

Update: I have rewritten this poem. I think it’s much better now.

Art is the politics of the soul, its republic common
But the issues that it wrestles with complex.
Each convocation’s opened by a flamen
But gaveled to its closure by consent.
The natural philosophers of sound
Divine the base mathematics of the wind,
Abstract exalted ratios from the ground,
And reveal the world’s real lineaments.
The stem that climbs and winds about the post,
In whose embrace it lets itself be twined,
Is seeking in its time that wire host
From whose bed it lets its blooms unwind.
Remember on those days when reason fails you,
Our lives are just the spirit’s glossolalia.

Art is the politics of the soul, its republic common
But complex, its sessions opened by a flamen
But concluded only by consent
And all its legislation heaven-sent.

The natural philosophers of sound,
Divining fey mathematics from the ground,
Abstract the base mathematics from the wind
And show the world’s hidden lineaments.

The stems that climb and wind about the post
Are seeking in their time that wire host
In whose embrace they let themselves be twined
And from whose bed they let their blooms unwind.

Remember on those days when reason fails you,
Our lives are just the spirit’s glossolalia.

***

I’m not sure if this is done yet, but I needed to see it in the air for a while before I decide. It was inspired by the Minutemen, in particular, “Double Nickels on the Dime.” It’s the first sonnet in a corona, each poem inspired by a band and an album that changed my life. The next one will be Hüsker Dü and “Zen Arcade.”