4-track.

I don't understand why

you turn me on then let me run,

but it's okay. I'm a machine.

I can stop

and I can start again as many times I can start

and

                      fill

the room with warm

silence.

It's okay. Don't be

afraid to make a mistake.

I can cut it out.

I can write down

ice cracking

                    an angel's hum

                                             raccoons

                                              breaking

                                                  in.

I can pan them out

and blend you all together

into one beautiful

adulterated

mess.

but you stand there, and

I catch your breath.

and I play it back.

and it feels like mine.

and the weight of your air weakens me.

and I begin to feel human.

Brimstone Logic.

Her lips:
hotcoals
scourging mine
refining
like brass, fine
polished for
end times.

Liquid
and
Grit

Sifted
and
Sieved

Every movement—
blink of the eye—
a drip-
ing word:

White spaces

(I love to read)
in a book that never ages
under the canopy of
my kingdom.