John Cage
glitters and gleams
in intellectual playfulness,
I Ching pryfulness,
his easygoing indeterminacy
prying open echoless vastness,
out-of-mind, undefiled fragrance
into which one enters
like a rotating spinning top,
arms outstretched
in swirling Saturn spectral granulation,
one's mind's hall of mirrors
echoing
the reflections
of Grete Sultan's dip
into Music Of Changes