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’.