Since echoes come from different directions than the main sound,
They may be ignored more easily with two ears.
So there's me and Childe Harold sitting at the kitchen table
waxing lyrical though it's mostly wax about our ageing Lolitas
and how you start out with a cough
and the next thing you know you've got opiate alkaloids
taking fragments from the day's dealings and pasting them back into dream
there's a greased joint to which weeks get universally screwed
the complexity of it all runs past you in seconds:
a handful of hand-picked gravel tossed on the soft tin roof you cower beneath
another puffy metal storm sliding in on seamless (in)visible runners
always only just above our heads
rain's rising static is defeated by the chugging of this original 60s nebulizer
which I methodically charge with broncholdilators gin and isotonic
a Marsh Chapel remake: the entheogenic potential of aerosol
it seems to work because I'm hopelessly drawn
to this slightly skew whiff iron-on jpeg of the Mayan calendar
on Evangeline's half top left to dry in the microwave
did you ever notice how much Chiccan looks like a mussel?
Just then Tom De Quincey pops his head round the door
strikes a sort of Friedrich First Light Pose, and says:
see how obsession crashes into life hangs then disappears?
It falls through a previously unnoticed opening
a lidlessness you'd never really sussed or seen before
the machine stops
rain refills the tiny shallow tray of (immediate) silence
a cough punched into kitchen air resonates picks up something in the dish rack
a bowl the rack itself
or else the case of Morellino down the hall
carelessly shipped without cardboard dividers or the slightest regard for form
clutching my auditory illusions lab report kit
which assures me that all over head-sized sounds are diffracted if not scattered
I reflick the switch
tumble back
into the foul vapours
it's an awareness level thing
these sets of tracks are yours and mine
from time to time they coincide
what you expect is what you get:
early morning power-shag
the breakfast of champions
the once over
I am what iamb says Harold
Milan May 2007