My blood is a red desert soaking into sand and drying onto stones, baked dry in my veins, cracked earth stiffening my chest. Airless plasma runs toward the neck and folds in the dark under the skin. I feel gravity run deep and oceanic, wet crimson waves that lick the sand, sinking and sucking. Sand pulls away and I breathe, oxygen filling my cells up to the thickness of brain.
Fear. The sea stirs in the distance, and I feel heat in my chest and cold in my hands. Wind moves the tall grass by the shore. Night sky becomes powder in my fingers. Stillness and empty space chase me like air on clouds, invisible in the blue. Mental energy cuts swordlike, bloody and wet with smooth force. Pulse pounds at great speed. Air moves untroubled. The precision in me is not mine. I close my eyes and watch it blankly moving across the plain, thundering out of sight.
White steel grinds, flashing metal, teeth dent shining aluminum. Heaving wheels hurtle to a stop, grip and tear out the brain. Flesh cleaves from bones tumbling sleek and glossy, cold and undifferentiated from the sky.
Sparkling sheets float above millions of tiny luminous spikes. Sun dissolves on the horizon. Tall wide trees shimmer with leaves. Their patterns shine over people walking on footpaths and sitting on benches and lawns. I'm up there, liberated from fear, free of anger, using my mind to deploy itself out of existence. My suffering is a thin line that stretches across a wide expanse, a broad borealis of self-pity, flush with hatred. Wincing, I see but can't feel some force whipping at me. A super dark and deep furrow gives way, no hold on me now. Inner shadows radiate.
Empty space is listening for me. My steps sound out. I am being traveled, slipping over time and places. Words are like pictures, thin photographs, scattered papers fluttering skyward. The edges of me are being lined with fine stuff, softly rendered, seamless like love, divine focus, chiseled in relief.
Backed by a trio of jazz musicians, the Taiwanese singer-songwriter develops physical landscapes as a vehicle for stunning sound poetry. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 3, 2024
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