Clam Notation

If the whole composition
Consisted of blown clam notes,
Would you wince and keep cringing,

Or would you pretend to be
In on the joke? Sometimes Ives
Or atonal specialists

Seem intent on finding out,
And there’s a drunk line between
The Sex Pistols covering

“My Way” and an aggressive
Piece of cerebral mayhem.
And what would that be for words?

Let the monkeys take apart
The encyclopedia.
Don’t make us try to type it.

There’s no fun in entropy,
If you’re only pretending
Or you start out near the top.

You need low, low entropy
To thoroughly make a mess,
For all instruments to fall

Clamorously down the stairs
From the top of the tower
And bang to the heart of things,

Centers of skewed gravity
Lost and dark but beckoning—
That’s how this clam cosmos sings.