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Richard, 1998

 

by Leo Racicot



 

In these rooms that hold Brueghel

 

and Rome,

 

the browns, the gold,

 

he screams

 

for hours on end

 

louder than crows,

 

louder than the hooves

 

in the pictures

 

blackened by cinder and soot,

 

louder than the flutes

 

no one but the player can hear, 

 

wings too frozen to flap,

 

a mind too sore to think straight.

 

Four posts, 

 

the tops of them chrome,

 

have been cemented into the floor

 

to which he is strapped

 

to strap his screaming.

 

Maybe he is making a gamble 

 

to outshout the flat and angled landscapes,

 

the silence of one-dimensional men,

 

the injustices of history.



 

It's fitting these pictures watch over him;

 

the Masters knew the anguish of unanswered cries,

 

the loudness of hounds

 

when they see the road is covered over 

 

by centuries of snow,

 

the shouts of skaters skating on a river

that never ends…

Leo Racicot is an award-winning poet & essayist from Lowell, Massachusetts.