s w i f t s  &  s l o w s: a quarterly of crisscrossings

Homage for George Antheil
BrianSGore & Rory Lee

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Invocation

Throw me in a grand piano programmed to sing this melody. Tap Tap Tap. The orchestra lifts its instruments. The man playing tymphony refuses to stop his mallet going. You! Turn
the handle on that siren!

Variations on a Poppy #1 & #2, Rory Lee

While all the adults chase a runaway airplane propeller, a child is left content with a stick and dirt. Once wrangled, those not maimed will rebuild the death machine they intended the propeller for. The child will have to mature before realizing the thrill of these games. It’s a comic Betty Boop story.
The adults play the xylophone ribcages of their dead friends.

A little boy played with a toy truck with his friend who dug roadways with sticks. RAID! Turn the handle on that siren! A falling bomb will not drop alone. Bullets lead the way for soldiers. Meadows turn mud plots. Cratered, scarred and littered. Metropolises raized. Smoke signals tell surrounding towns whizbang stories. Finally, quiet. Because everyone died or fled. Ultimate sacrifice
because discontented older folks. Now prepare for another raid from the other direction.

Variation on a Poppy #3, Rory Lee

INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION. New ways to endulge old habits. Take what’s in the pipe, melt it in a spoon, and supply it straight to the veins. Oil refinery pharma co’s I.V. make better machinery World War I scratched through poppy meadows trace Mark 1s replace merry-go-round horses.
Now Again! the Reprise.

Variations on a Poppy #4 & #5, Rory Lee

Stick a tuning fork in me. I’m flat. The death machine is complete! The siren blared. The orchestra reloaded their instruments and tuned their sights. SHELL! SHELL! Dust clouds and crumbs. Casings hit concrete singing like sleighbells, laughing, left behind by their innards so not to see eyes of victim crying in cold death. Another. And another. Endless. The tymphony thunders. SHELL! Slow seep mustard breath. Her eyes popped like bubble gum as she slumped into the dirt holding her stick next to her friend holding the toy truck. Silent reload. A riot of shell-shocked soldiers still hear the war siren. Distant airplanes are coming. She who ordered this symphony is hoisted out of the hall in a rug and thrown into a carriage, and I’m hammered in the guts of a robotic
grand piano that plays melody of a madman!

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BrianSGore is a writer of short stories, poems, and songs. He currently resides in New London, CT and has published several collections of original works including Barstool Ballads and Eleven Stories for Short … Attentions, as well as coordinating a collaborative project entitled A Collection of Poems by Various Poets Regarding the Line ‘10,000 Miles of Farewell’. His newest book, Tangled World, is available now, along with his new album Going, Never Stopping, both at briangoing.bandcamp.com

Rory Lee: Behind the counter. Get your day started with coffee in the morning. Calling a day with a pint of beer, or a bottle of wine. Write my own rules and history illustrates my experience and observation of heart.