Flora Yin-Wong
The Spire
2024 3 28
π
epiphany in a chime of blood
like bamboo sliced lengthwise its
splintering quiver & the lid of a pot
left long on the burner
she puts her headphones on as though they're
seashells & she's
listening for fire
dull throb body beats
skittering, whittling,
caustic mass of cavern creeps that
cup the club within tilting monoliths
coal & collide
literal gong strike & trembling zither
strange inhabitants of stranger yet summoning
captive under plastic rubies &
soft pews turned sonic shelter
who's the sound & who's performing?
livid, lively, un/natural alchemy
so serene like wave heart waiting
all energy
all potential
all living, enlightened
β¦
Gi Gi
The Spire
2024 3 28
π
if music is language then
all you gotta do is hear
the rock candy skipping
little long rippling
lapping the bright shores of futurebound waterfall
you see the shadow
deepening, glittering, its low lightness droning
fresh baby underbelly
painted like crystal unclouded with color
something is moving just under the surface
of surface
envision evasion
like cold clamming curling
against hot skin, cool lair,
old babylon, hanging
β¦
Trying something new; calling it #showθ― (aka "show poetry"). Thanks for "listening." Stay tuned...!
πΆ xoxo Lio
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