“M-Theory, or, A Piece for Eleven Strings,” by T.J. McLemore
Even the body, so impossibly tuned and tensioned:
all of us crimped, folded and thrumming just so, they say,
like a trillion trillion guitars or glass harmonicas, tiny
symhonies of sound—so why not metaphysics?
“M-Theory, or, A Piece for Eleven Strings,” by T.J. McLemore Read More »
Even the body, so impossibly tuned and tensioned:
all of us crimped, folded and thrumming just so, they say,
like a trillion trillion guitars or glass harmonicas, tiny
symhonies of sound—so why not metaphysics?
