there's a nihilistic feeling in the samba
perhaps the moon is too near
the pane of glass will break
old crystal too will disappear
you'll keep on singing
even if you dont want to
like the girl in red shoes
whirls to the cathedral and past it
there's a nihilistic feeling in the samba
and notes like glittering beads
a melody thats circuitous
and a cross that bleeds.
a carnival with angular faces
all this rain blowing over
I heard the music on the way over
at the mournful harbor I was coming to
that part in the song in the city of song;
weeping trumpets too.
mists over piers
the years and years
its made of black stars whoever you are
its crossed with amber but not with gold
its so old slander pretending to be new
lace fans deployed on the avenue
it goes on and on
that samba song.
mary angela douglas 16 februay 2020
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