MAN YOU VOICE IS A CLOUD:
Woke by the sound of crows pecking your car again, they do it
every morning around this time of year. Last night they called it music
as the audience listened enraptured & transfixed whilst I was attacked
by unexpected violent shapes. You would’ve seen me flinching & maybe
thought I was jigging in time to the sweet sounds of the orchestra, but I had
my eyes closed trying not trying to concentrate but trying not to see the
sounds turn into broken shards that pierced me like a pin cushion.
Between every performance the conductor would announce the next piece,
but the acoustics of the building were such that no one could make out
what he was saying & we listened to a serious of human tones
like the sweetest saxophone playing abstract melodies cut up from random
keys. Some around me laughed & I admit I burst out for a second, but the
sounds he made produced no violent shapes & I could open my eyes & breath
again as the air filled with gossamer clouds of golds & silver.