| Dry skin slides on snaky skin, Papery crack music plays, Haunts, Melody-less, Infuses my being, Drives my inactive mind round till all spins, Till all is consumed, Physically crumpled, Pain is found in the comforting, Natural becomes a struggle, When the blessed blank noise comes to calm: But it is the bass riff, The smooth bass, The riff of life, That permeates with precision, As the endless intro hums hypnotically so it spills Over, as the Saharan slits become damp once more, The subtle rhythms still stalk me as an endless and unwanted reminder. Damn you! Damn the music! Hail the mastery of the gesamkunstwerk! Bow to those who orchestrate it, Whose very presence is the ambience, The footsteps on the pavement, The inhalation, The exhalation, The stem that links the rose-sweet petal heads to the living roots in the echoey cavern of my mind. The presence! The flawless artistry! The graceful ease! � But here I am, alone, with my bass rhythm. |