"Zestless" by Hunter Madsen


Wallace Stevens might as well have been speaking of mid-life and the bleaching out of life's earlier colours:

The truth is that there comes a time
When we can mourn no more over music
That is so much motionless sound.
There comes a time when the waltz
Is no longer a mode of desire, a mode
Of revealing desire and is empty of shadows.
Too many waltzes have ended.

                  - From Sad Strains of a Gay Waltz


TITLE - "Zestless"
WHERE - Scraped lemon, Port Moody, British Columbia (2015)