Salieri (by Adam WarRock)
[MCF as Amadeus]
Picture me settling for old age, a gold cage,
polite applause from aristocratic no-names.
More likely flame out, age of 27:
creditors in mourning, crying women, what a legend,
little Wolfgang Amadé. Never could escape the ‘little.’
But I’ll step out of my cradle leaking symphonies like spittle.
I’ll be tearing up the circuit, showing off the fancy fingerwork.
“Never seen his likeness,” yet another king observed.
And I’m a gird-myself-for-accolades,
flirt with all the duchesses, wonder why they misbehave,
wander through the colonnades, sign a couple autographs,
laugh a composition out. This is like an epitaph
to all the music ever writ before I hit the harpsichord,
before I ever gave the people what their hearts adored.
Salieri scribbling, an echo in diminished fifths.
Now take my requiem, and notice how it’s effortless.