Crystalline concoctions, guild gold
with soil, I didn’t get a bouquet
so I painted a field instead–
poppies red as a sacred heart,
cardinal’s breath against snow.
Brandon told me once I listen
to Crystal Castles because
I was born at the turn of tech-
nology: nintendo and machina
modified mind. But maybe the
synthetic rhythms are the only
cold hymns keeping my brain
from misfeeding–beating in
balance, or harsher. I need repetition,
I need the steadiness, I need
a pulse… We’re all happy until
something convinces us otherwise.
Then we’ll never be pure again.