The
threads of my attention swing between my image of you
static
on
the wall and
my
understanding
of
your falling
between
a saxophone and his drummer.
The
swing of this
makes no sound, but my body moves to the
snared
beat
of
your improvisation. This is when
the
silence
racks the worm eaten center and brushes
green
down my throat
into my
veins;
committing paralysis:
spinal
cord pulls the switch in the messengers laboratory.
A
swelling alchemy tattoos the air rippling the weightless sound of
iron,
brass gold toned notes
chasing
one another down the paralleled slants a climax
turns
to a stoned shiver;
I
am
almost
there.
Phthalo
blues
spin the color wheel opposite poles form a stream of
makeshift footsteps
transposing;
reshaping to white
beneath the veil of
coming
together.
The
light begins to wind around my face the butterfly the spider
weaves
strands around the body until wings are crushed against
the
sides winding without moving, upward to the collar begins to
collapse
the lungs and a sedated rapture muffles the gasping and
the
strands wind around the eyes the loss of sight heightens canals
Opened;
rapt tongue
biding.
Copyright © Tanja Sophia Krupa, 2002. All Rights Reserved.
