I told the author of the play
\nit was a rhapsody,
\na madrigal,
\npieces of a broken heart,
\ndeafness following the explosion
\nof the soul.
\nThen I left,
\nfeeling the illness of bad wine,
\nthe coil of a snake in my stomach.
\nThe play had the shadows
\nof a ghost,
\nthe darkness of a river bottom.
\nIt dealt with honor without honesty,
\npretense, denying nakedness,
\nand fell into a cistern
\nwhere hypocrisy looked up.
\nBegging to be set free,
\nto crawl from the well
\nand be relieved of its crime.
\nPerhaps the author sensed what he had done
\nand dismissed my praise later,
\nin which case I excuse his failure.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I told the author of the play it was a rhapsody, a madrigal, pieces of a broken heart, deafness following the explosion of the soul.…<\/p>\n