Bach tribute

Friends, bloggers, countrymen,
Here lies the results of years of attempts to write a wee tribute to my main man in the field of musical composition/decomposition.

A prince among filthy harpsichords
Who unto clean and wild heaven bestows
Piss and algorithms, as to out-think
The singular world with repetition

Lies flat in that orb which none can point to,
All the love and rage he ornamented
Halves of previous things already halved,
Never to add up to the holy one.

But in that music we dither or walk forth
Still almost at the edge of yellow light
Where a fly will ofttimes buzz and jerk back:
And when the music stops we do the same.

Fugue of fortune, counterpoint of none
Chasing yourself made shadow through the room
On string strung up on atria in atria,
About a chancy origin---ventricle, theme.

Flat tone of a horn falls o’er polyphony
Jilting each in his flat, on the block
Where it has dwelt.
Fugue return to wrap in sizeless dream
That life that all the while was beat out
With a cloth doll’s heart.