Objects Found in Erik Satie’s Apartment After His Death, 1925

seven
moth eaten velvet suits
for seven years
one for a Paris afternoon
another for the cafe you played in
still others
for the streets you roamed,
casual streets
of coffee houses
and people of leisure
lining the streets

and tables
hiding beneath their awnings

a top hat
and tiny glasses
you stared through
unequivocally

a hammock
strung in your room
no bed
one chair
one table

unpublished manuscripts
scores with annotations
like a nightingale with a sore tooth
and
the monkey scratches himself with a potato

poetry titled
Dried Embryos -
the description of a rock

a written discussion on being dizzy:
a friend who had never experienced it
and the blackbird perched above
watching over you imperiously

music
with melodies doubled at the octave
simplistic perhaps
and harmonies liberated
to the point of oddity

no prizes or awards
no major commissions
you were deemed a “quite insignificant pupil”

by the Conservatoire de Musique et de Declamation
tiny papers
with calligraphic inscriptions describing a
“looking glass” world
mystical,
filled with hollow structures and figurines
a universe unto itself

seven
moth eaten velvet suits
riddled with holes,
pockets of understanding
discarded