this is where you fly:
listen to the music of it
the refrigerator's singing
the high pitched ringing
the dog scuffling across the wooden floor, four-legged tempo
wind chimes whispering sweet somethings i don't know what downwind
upwind to someone too, doppler shifted
it's hard to estimate that sort of thing
what it sounds like / looks like from a perspective far far away
just listen to the music, it's for you
the troubles of this world are a part of its charm
if you can take them & their part in the truth
like the universe saying, "we can if you want to, but can you handle it?"
my mother speaks of "the orb" after the sirens in the distance rotated like gumbo
now we're listening to the orb and dancing to the inventors of the ambient house genre
"if you can take them," she says—the universe i mean
anyway, here's the deal
for a certain type of object, you find what you look for
so choose wisely or gently, well or gladly
here's where i was searching for what i had:
"that is never going to lead us in the right direction"
diagnosing what isn't broken is like coming up
with a theory to explain why the orb didn't take off like taylor swift
intentions rule at the brink
have you ever let somebody believe for you?
have you ever let somebody's belief of you...?
fill in the gaps first—what do you think i mean? start there
your answer is information that i don't have
the power of humanity: the diversity of our imaginations
the diversity of conditions in which our imaginations dance
forget the pink elephant
tell me about the flapping of your ears
as you listened to the music of it
what did you notice inside this place?
today i noticed this:
“mother is always right” like tautology
and father softly behind the scenes—in the field beyond—holding space like always
for all the wrongs made up by the rights
lending the lawful disorder of things back to nothing