This is the third of five poems submitted by Jason last month. - poetheart 08/10/02
What we do, what we say, I think what we imagine
spins the needle, inches it groove by groove
till we can only bare the repetitive chorus...
we aspire to nothing less. What metal touches the record
is never anything cold-- soothing, slow romantic aspirations
that turns through our hearts' chambers
and makes a vast audience of them all. This is why I sing a poem--
because the music in me has started
to unfold; generous notes leap from room to room
as if a music score.
by Jason Visconti