Down here among the dead, our fairy tales begin at the end.
These nights, when Gramma fell asleep in her rocker, Luba knelt on all fours to press her ear to the rug; she heard the Undersea rising, the roar of the sea-lions, a faint song of sirens luring ships to invisible rocks. And just last night she heard beneath the rug the faint deep sound of a cello.
Uncle Rod came back from Vietnam, broken like they all were, and danced.
If in dreams I stalk White Rabbit
every time I use / abuse / the slash / sounds like // a clap //
The old man waits, hoping someday someone would come off the bus needing to have been waited for
Those who write about music or incorporate musicality in their words often have an innate sense of that, whether or not they’re able to describe it in academic terms. And with this sense, writers often, possibly unknowingly, incorporate a few techniques from composition and songwriting into their prose.
We should try to write about music, dance about architecture, and make opera about economics too.