The threads of my attention swing between my image of you

static

on the wall and

my understanding

of your falling

between a saxophone and his drummer.

The swing of this makes no sound, but my body moves to the

snared beat

of your improvisation.  This is when the

silence racks the worm eaten center and brushes

green down my throat into my

veins; committing paralysis:

spinal cord pulls the switch in the messengers laboratory.

A swelling alchemy tattoos the air rippling the weightless sound of

iron, brass gold toned notes

chasing one another down the paralleled slants a climax

turns to a stoned shiver;

I am

almost

there.

Phthalo

blues spin the color wheel opposite poles form a stream of

makeshift footsteps

transposing; reshaping to white

beneath the veil of

coming together.

The light begins to wind around my face the butterfly the spider

weaves strands around the body until wings are crushed against

the sides winding without moving, upward to the collar begins to

collapse the lungs and a sedated rapture muffles the gasping and

the strands wind around the eyes the loss of sight heightens canals

Opened; rapt tongue

biding.

Copyright © Tanja Sophia Krupa, 2002.  All Rights Reserved.