Absolutely unfazed and unremarkable,
I marvel at the leaden and
featureless movements composing your face.
Because I cannot comprehend what it is that you think.
It is not just that my thoughts covet potato roots
or that my words hit like postmodern piano notes,
but that also,
a mahogany mask is drawing water over your shoulder,
reminding me to not be home late.
That windowless castle waiting,
on stark and steeply angled stages,
lights toward my vision and
begs me to come home.
Present and deep in-breath, you typify
a healthy mind,
and to my prodding at the meaning of it all, you claim
that someday something you do will fulfill you.
As if you were sliding your favorite Japanese knife down a freshly picked lime,
such inquiry no more disturbing than a papercut
drizzled in acrid citrus:
a fine sacrifice for a margarita.
I drink with you but I am also
carving languages on stone walls.
You remain unaware that
I am the skin that slides from your knife in precise
and spiraled shavings.
nikolailash, tool, beethoven, callisto, cult of luna, aphex twin, mogwai, godspeed you black emperor!, squarepusher, neurosis, autechre, isis, rage against the machine, chopin, marilyn manson, boards of canada, richard devine, max richter, rachel's, pole, fridge, amon tobin, alice coltrane, keith fullerton whitman, explosions in the sky, this will destroy you, mecury program, mono, Chihei Hatakeyama, Nine Inch Nails, jesu, defragmentation, do make say think, mouth of the architect, etc.
Dostoevsky is in my soul, but I forget the rest
mystics long forgotten