None march in the Archduke’s War, or worse lost cause.
Without promise of plunder, murder, gallantry.
Marriage is less remunerative than war –
Two waspheads lying on one pillowship,
Drowning, one toe just skating the sheet for bedrock.
The bright moonlight mackerels heaven in my garden,
Fair flesh of the turtle given shape by shell,
Eve shining like an illuminated rib,
Forsaking this garden for another bondage.
I so pray this pretty sky to stay:
My high blood, fireclouds, the first dew,
Elms black on the moon, our birdhouse on a pipe….
Was the Archduke, the music-patron, childless? Beethoven
Married the single muse, her ear of flint.
Listen to Rubinstein, Heifetz, Feuermann play Beethoven’s Piano Trio No 7 “Archduke.”