have you ever listened to a record?
ever
lied
on your
spine
on the rug of a big naked living room
furniture shoved against the walls
through
calm the sphere
of
the sound
with nothing to interrupt the waves
as they charge through the air into you --
nothing left to take in
but to imagine good love
wears soft danger, like
to be exactly what we want:
love, we need: rest,
for good
squirming through the speed of time
the predictable and calculated box of a record
the same consistent
understood mesmerism
captured through time
like grabbing kites
the snowglobe sound
forever never changing
history emergent
recited and reliable
art is a love under lock
always within our wistful grasp
enough cues in its patterns to give us fair warning
song
the sound of the you only have
meaning
so many minutes left to fly
through the space of this snowglobe
terrarium wonderland love sound cocktail
stronger than anything your tongue ever knew
so that you can count the minutes
in pitch and rhythm, the calculated
advances towards and against the sound
in quiet imagination of the other missing senses
absent, all of them, or else sacrificed for the sound
that you will have on the warm rug of the naked room until
soon
very soon when
it is
dropped
into
hot
wet
nothing
and you stand into a moment with absolutely nothing
to flip the record over?
August, 2014