[The music was covered in fur. the fur
was]
[At the edge of
the music, a well.]
[The music was wounded, it warbled
mucus. the mucus]
[The music was hiding in a sack of
flour. there was]
The music was covered in fur. the fur was
falling out in tufts. in the exposure where the
tufts had been, bees
swarmed. the bees flicked
their honeyed legs
across the surface of the music.
the music shivered. the tufts lay in the dust, black as
oil. red ants came on. the sky, once
remote, drew in
on the music. puddles parted.
At the edge of the
music, a well.
at the bottom of the
well, a way.
the way was paved with
mistranslation, tape hiss.
sex and/or electricity
was a wave within the way,
welling up until it drenched
the music, blurring every
edge. hence the mistranslation, the reverb.
The
music was wounded, it warbled mucus. the mucus
was contagious, warping sound wherever it smeared.
smear-field, implicating the weave of the modal fabric.
red ants arrove and bent to work
unraveling. above the knees
the clouds darkened. in the ditch,
the music, its sides heaved.
the many red tongues pushed in and out. a
practiced imitation
of listening.
The
music was hiding in a sack of flour. there was
a blue sky stain on the cellar floor. the
stain seemed
to be leaking from an impaled one-winged bird. grey and
speckled, as though dusted with flour or drowned by cloud,
its posthumous flapping stirred a hot wind throughout the
room.
the wind diffused the blue sky stain and enflamed the music
hiding
in its sack. above ground there was
nothing, just the red ants lining
up to be soothed.