Steel tube

With four notes, four stones
(four stabsites in my gut)
four elements, four winds,
four corners of my mouth
(with large and small violences)
what more [do I (I?)] need?

There is a reason (not)
There is a story (journey) (not)
There is searching and not
finding. Finding is loss
with everything in the chanting,
headphones, clickwheels, black boxes
(steel tube searching my guts)
(namelessness, blowing me up)
(you tube my space)
In the notes, tunes, we-tunes, I-tunes
In the numbers that come.

This is not a language project
This is a scream
This is not a language project
This is a fleam
This is not yours This will never be yours
This is mine
This is mine
Metonyms
[half]truths
coresamples of hyperreality

All the blinking screens All the
flashing lies All the
howling beacons
All the spot
nights
All the spot
nights Fifteen minutes Soul (stolen)
Sole souls (stolen)

This is not a language project
This is a scream
Just a quivering
       sweatslicked
       teethbared
       eyeswideopen

(First published in The Broadkill Review)

What do you think?