The War Recital
by Bruce Boston

The War Recital ticks to a pendulum clock bound
by the conditions and rhythms of sentient life.

We all play instruments in the War Recital,
whether or not we are able to read a note.

You have no choice but to listen to the War Recital.
It fills the airwaves and fondles your dreams.

The War Recital achieves its climax in an orgasm
of tympanic brilliance so deafening the audience
has been known to flee to other planets.

There are sweet interludes in the War Recital.
They are sensuous cheery and you can swing
them in the blacking hollow of your bones.

Have you ever danced to the War Recital?

There are loose parts in The War Recital.
Some are metal. Most are melting plastic.
Some are flesh. A few of them are yours.

The air is sweet and the sky nothing less
than azure in the wake of the War Recital.
Even foul insects drone in dulcet tones.

When you consider its incisive dark moments,
the War Recital could leave you breathless
in the pitch of dusk graying into night.

Equilibrium is restored by anesthetics
advised by your primary care physician.