every utterance a jewellery box

full of tone-pictures, brooding &

dusty on a shelf. light is thrown

backward through time saying

‘come with me’ & you will, if

only in spirit, because any old

beckoning is sexy. i’m starting

a new race of people under a

mountain, on another planet,

where electricity & the sweep

of harmony can’t get me.

inconsequential rats will be

the new ‘memories’.