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The Literary Groong - 07/10/2010

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	By Helene Pilibosian

	When the sound
	of the wheels of the train
	echoed in my ears,
	I heard a Rachmaninoff concerto
	exhibiting its influence and power.
	A microphone translated
	its implications,
	presenting me with a transcript.
	Then station to station,
	I fooled myself into denying
	the music as a feint.

	But no feint found me
	that day or later
	as I conjugated ambition
	to follow such vital notes.
	Difficult, yes.
	Difficulty plays instruments,
	conjugates many verbs,
	builds viable languages.
	It sneezes sawdust
	and forms storms. 

	The season meant well
	upon the overweight hours,
	though it measured them
	and found them wanting exercise.
	Only misanthropes apologize.
	My lack of disguise caused me
	to hail a tentative taxi,
	and on its radio I heard
	a Rachmaninoff concerto
	concluding as from the wheels.

	I decided to travel by train again,
	even with a diet of circumstance.

Helene Pilibosian has written and published three books of poems, one
the winner of a first prize from Writer's Digest.  She owns Ohan Press
( and has just published her memoir
called My Literary Profile about her life and the culmination of all
her efforts.

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