peter jerrim

that I can’t hear a damn thing
without
the renaissance surface
 
of these bubbles and the torpedoes
below
zinging with heat
 
is pleasantly disconcerting, to say
the least – the trebles like
tuning forks bearing so many degrees to glissando
 
from the mean – I suppose it’s an effect
like moving from one room
to another
 
or from autumn to winter,
sky to
wet horizon
 
or like this company
singing, blended glad and
sangfroid all at once
 
if you wander into them
without instructions
you run the risk
 
of needles in your ears
perhaps
your eyes