lifting inhales the staccato breath, and ascending static lines overlapping
clockwise letters in their epileptic frenzy,
adding in measure to the piano prefaces as one-eighth of a second ticks by,
roaming pilgrim stops for a moment in the auratically-hewed landscape, as now in vibrant canary yellow that nests in Borneo, away from hungry coal mines; soot black outlines of Spanish terra cotta tiles and Revivalist sermons
sung in alto to opposing rooftops, arms raised in unison the guttural greeting to the day. And as now - in corrosive orange, indicative borders its low-lying neighbors, arching out to meet the glorious red of Iberian Moors who once
ruled this peninsula, expanding in raucous celebration, deteriorating fireworks in acrylics across the open canvas through the sudden change of the painter's mind. No rest in the interlude of opposing bass and bitter,
high-strung flute, demanding as an interrogator in coffin rooms fit for the
soon-to-be corpses inside, reticent in taste and acrid hallelujah, joyful but
disconcerting to passerbys unsure of the quicksilver notes, the sexual
panting and unruly foreplay that appeals to baser levels as it ascends the sonic rooftop.
And in the orgasm, the gasping release pent up for too long in dimly lit studio
walls, we'll smoke and stare at the ceiling fan.