Hamlet: 'Sblood, do you think I am easier
to be played on than a pipe? Call me what
instrument you will, though you can fret
me, yet you cannot play upon me.
Hamlet III.ii.389-92
You say you hear a symphony in my blood:
The piping of fluid through veins
The muffled bleat of arteries gushing
Sinews stretched taut and humming
The grinding rumble of bone-in-socket.
And you wish to be the conductor
Of my corpuscular sonata,
Directing the spectacular decay,
The mortal pulse and swell of
Crescendo, decrescendo.
But my fleshly orchestra dictates its own pace;
These pulpy instruments assume the strange
Syncopation of dissolve and coagulate.
My organic fugue will conclude on its own:
In one breathless staccato stop
Or a cacophonous slide to chaos
Or perhaps a pianissimo degeneration
Into confused silence.
Maestro, this blood symphony surpasses your skill:
You cannot tune my flesh to suit you,
Nor sound the breadth of my mystery.
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