Hearing voices,
adjust the levels,
cut the bass free,
feather treble,
moving spaces,
torsioned faces,
whisper to me
words of true speak,
but why am I the
one who can see
the five cornered
room lit devils,
the split goat gates and
quartered angels,
shadows of souls and
bone gut rainbows?
Can't you taste the
air breathed to your face
when they lie astride you?
Hide your eyes
from the whisper, the cries,
retreat to the music
inside you.
